"A nice club," she remarked. "Where do you play, as a rule? There are so
many good links near London; so convenient. Well, I mustn't keep you."
She laid down the putter and fingered the balls for a moment. "Where have
I put my gloves?" she said then, looking around to collect her
belongings.

Gimblet was slightly put out at her inference that his plea of business
was merely an excuse to dismiss her in order that he might go off and
play golf. Heaven knew it was no affair of hers whether he played golf
that day or not! But as a matter of fact he had no intention of leaving
the flat that afternoon, and had merely been practising a shot or two on
the carpet after lunch before Lord Ashiel's arrival. Still it was true
that he had made business a pretext for getting rid of her, and this made
the injustice of the widow's further inference ruffle him more than it
might have if she had been entirely in the wrong. He was the most
courteous of men, and that anyone should suspect him of unnecessary
rudeness distressed him.

He made no reply, however, in spite of the temptation to defend himself;
but stooped to pick up a diminutive black suede glove which his visitor
had dropped when she took up the putter.

She thanked him and put it on, depositing, while she did so, her other
glove, her handkerchief, sunshade and a small brown-paper parcel upon the
writing-table at her side.

Gimblet did not appreciate seeing these articles heaped upon his
correspondence. Without any comment he removed them, and stood holding
them silently till she should be ready.