"You are so stupid I'm afraid you will--if it ever takes place," she added, looking down. "Be good, Jack, and don't tease me. I meant to Lord Marwick's wedding."

"Lord Marwick? Who is Lord Marwick?"

"Lord Wallace Marwick, of Perth!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight at being the custodian of some great secret.

"My knowledge of the peerage is so slight, dearest, that I confess I have never heard of, much less met, Lord Wallace Marwick of Perth," I declared, smiling in sympathy with her enthusiasm.

"Oh, yes you have! You know him very well!"

"I?"

"Yes, you; you dear old stupid!"

"Who on earth is Lord Wallace Marwick, or whatever his name is?"

"Bishop's hired man!"

"Wallace?"

"Wallace, our club professional!"

"And his bride is--?"

"Can you not guess?" she exclaimed.

"Miss Olive Lawrence," I hazarded.

"Really, Jack, you are improving. Two weeks from this noon Bishop's hired man, Lord Wallace Marwick, will be united in marriage with Olive Lawrence!"

If she had told me that her father had bought the English throne and was about to be crowned I should not have been more surprised.

"What was he doing at Bishop's?" I gasped.

"He was studying farming," she explained. "It seems that his father invested heavily in farming lands in the abandoned districts of New England. Upon his death Wallace determined to acquire a practical knowledge of the methods of American farming, and this was the way in which he went about it. He had already worked on two farms before he applied to Mr. Bishop. He was about to return to Scotland when he met Miss Lawrence. The reasons for his subsequent course you certainly must understand."

"How soon did Miss Lawrence learn that he was--that he was what he is?"

"Shortly after he became our professional." she replied. "That disclosure, and certain other disclosures const.i.tuted one of her 'lessons.' Olive confided the secret to me, and this is the princ.i.p.al reason we are here."

"Sweetheart," I said, after an interval of silence, "would it not be splendid to have our wedding at the same time? I have always been--been partial to double weddings."

"I do not know," she whispered, looking intently at the tip of her dainty shoe. "Perhaps--perhaps--I don't know what papa and mamma would think about it."

I heard the crunching of gravel.

"Don't you folks ever eat?" demanded a familiar voice, and Mr. Harding bore down upon us. We said nothing.

"Do you know what time it is?" he added, with an impatience which puzzled me.

"I have not the slightest idea," I truthfully replied.

"Well, it's nearly two o'clock," he declared, looking at his watch.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Smith, and then I began to be worried about you," turning to his daughter. "Why, Kid, you've had time to paint this old stone shack two coats."

"I imagine I'm to blame," I interposed.

"Have you forgotten, Smith, that you have an engagement to play a foursome with old Tom Morris, Carter and myself this afternoon?" he said, looking at us rather suspiciously, I thought.

"I have another engagement," I returned, mustering all my courage.

"What's that?"

"I have an engagement with Grace for life, and we wish to know if you will give your consent to our marriage two weeks from to-day!"

He gazed at us for a moment, a grave look on his rugged and honest face.

He dropped his cane, took our hands in his and said:

"Children, you didn't fool your old dad for one minute! Take her, my boy, and G.o.d bless both of you! Your mother knows it, Grace, and she sends her blessing."

We almost overcame him with our expressions of grat.i.tude. As we started back to the hotel he glanced at us and chuckled.

"I suppose you two have not quit eating?" he suggested.

We promptly admitted we were hungry.

"And I presume you will play golf once in a while?"

We a.s.sured him that we certainly should.

"Well, suppose we go to the hotel, get a bite to eat and then go out and play that foursome with old Tom Morris and Carter," he pleaded. "There is one green out there which is called 'The Garden of Eden,' and I want to show it to you. You, Grace, and mother and Mrs. Carter can go along and be the gallery. I'll promise not to say a word or give a hint about what has happened."

Oh, that happy, happy afternoon on the turf, sand dunes, braes and greens of Old St. Andrews! The sea gulls circled over our heads, the foam-flecked surf crooned its song of love, the River Eden wound about our pathway, and the blue sky smiled down upon us.

"Sweetheart," I said, "there is one confession you have not made to me."

"What is it, Jack?"

"Why did you play so wretchedly that first game in Woodvale?"

Old Tom Morris looked back and smiled in sympathy with her joyous laugh.

"They told me that you were a confirmed woman hater, and that nothing so exasperated you as to be compelled to play with a girl who was a novice.

I wished to see if it were true. You are not a woman hater; are you, Jacques Henri?"

"No longer!" I declared.

"And you take back all the mean things you wrote about us in your diary?"