"Deal away!" Rachael, one hand on Warren's arm, would look saucily
at the others over his shoulder. "I like my beau," she would
assert brazenly, "and if you say a word more, I'll kiss him here
and now!"

They all shrieked derisively when the kiss was duly delivered and
Gregory Warren with a self-conscious laugh had escaped to his
shower. But Rachael saw nothing absurd; she told Warren that she
loved him, and let them laugh if they liked!

"Listen, dearest!" he said on the last night of their stay. "Will
you be a darling, and not trail round the links if we play to-
morrow?"

"Why not?" asked Rachael absently, fluffing his hair from her
point of vantage on the arm of his chair.

"Well, wouldn't you rather stay up on the porch with the girls?"

"If you men want to swear at your strokes, I decline to be a party
to it!" Rachael said maternally.

"I know. But, darling, it does rather affect our game," Warren
said uncertainly; "that is, you don't play, you see! And it only
gets you hot and mussy, and I love my wife to be waiting when we
come up. It isn't that I don't think you're a darling to want to
do it," he added in hasty concern.

No use. She was deeply hurt. She went to her dressing-table and