Borrowdean threw his half-finished cigarette into the ever-widening creek
below. It was characteristic of the man that his face showed no sign of
disappointment. Only for several moments he kept silence.

"Come," Mannering said at last. "Let us make our way back to the house.
If you are resolved to get back to town to-night, we ought to be thinking
about luncheon."

"Thank you," Borrowdean said. "I must return."

They started to walk inland, but they had taken only a few steps when
they both, as though by a common impulse, stopped. An unfamiliar sound
had broken in upon the deep silence of this quiet land. Borrowdean, who
was a few paces ahead, pointed to the bend in the road below, and turned
towards his companion with a little gesture of cynical amusement.

"Behold," he exclaimed, "the invasion of modernity. Even your
time-forgotten paradise, Mannering, has its civilizations, then. What an
anachronism!"

With a cloud of dust behind, and with the sun flashing upon its polished
metal parts, a motor car swung into sight, and came rushing towards them.
Borrowdean, always a keen observer of trifles, noticed the change in
Mannering's face.

"It is a neighbour of mine," he remarked. "She is on her way to the golf
links."

"Golf links!" Borrowdean exclaimed.