Andy McHeather, and Sandy McHoots!"

"Yes, Mortimer, the very same. Oh, it was difficult at first. I missed
my mallet, and long to steady the ball with my foot and use the toe of
the club. Wherever there was a direction post I aimed at it
automatically. But I conquered my weakness. I practised steadily. And
now Mr. McMickle says my handicap would be a good twenty-four on any
links." She smiled apologetically. "Of course, that doesn't sound much
to you! You were a twelve when I left you, and now I suppose you are
down to eight or something."

Mortimer shook his head.

"Alas, no!" he replied, gravely. "My game went right off for some
reason or other, and I'm twenty-four, too."

"For some reason or other!" She uttered a cry. "Oh, I know what the
reason was! How can I ever forgive myself! I have ruined your game!"

The brightness came back to Mortimer's eyes. He embraced her fondly.

"Do not reproach yourself, dearest," he murmured. "It is the best thing
that could have happened. From now on, we start level, two hearts that
beat as one, two drivers that drive as one. I could not wish it
otherwise. By George! It's just like that thing of Tennyson's."

He recited the lines softly:

_My bride,
My wife, my life. Oh, we will walk the links