"No," muttered Patricia. "Not that, not the better man, only the better golfer, Steve." And then with a sudden and mystifying change of manner, "Do you know why he always wears a crimson vest?"

"No--I've never thought," replied Steve.

"It's very--un--er--unprofessional--isn't it?"

"It isn't what a man wears that wins holes, you know, Patty."

"Oh, no," she said, carelessly, "I was just wondering----"

Mortimer Crabb, unofficial host of the occasion, had beckoned to Aurora and McLemore, who now joined the party. Steve Ventnor rose as the girl approached and their eyes met. Aurora's eyes were the color of lapis-lazuli, but the deep tan of her skin made them seem several shades lighter. They were handsome eyes, very clear and expressive, and at important moments like the present ones her long lashes effectually screened what might have been read in their depths.

"I'm sorry, Steve," she said gently. "You didn't have enough practice."

"Are you really?" asked Steve. He bent his head forward and said something for Aurora's ears alone, at which her lids dropped still further and the ends of her lips curved demurely. But she did not reply, and turned in evident relief when Crabb made a hospitable suggestion.

Patricia watched the by-play with interest. She had followed the romance with mingled feelings, for it was apparent that the triangle which had been equilateral in the spring was now distorted out of all semblance to its former shape, with poor Steve getting the worst of it. The reason was clear. The Sphynx was rich and so could afford to play golf with Aurora every day of the year if he wished, while Steve Ventnor, who spent his daylight hours selling bonds in the city, had to make the most of his Sat.u.r.day and Sunday afternoons. It was really too bad.

But the Sphynx only smiled his unhumorous smile, and went on playing golf during the week when Ventnor was at work. Propinquity had done a damage which even Patricia, with all her worldliness, could not find available means to repair. But she joined good-humoredly in the toasts to the new club champion who was accepting his honors carelessly, keeping her eyes meanwhile on Jimmy McLemore's crimson vest. That vest was a part of Jimmy's golf, as much a part of it as his tauric gla.s.ses, his preliminary wiggle on the tee, or his maddening precision on the putting-green. It fascinated her somehow, almost to the exclusion of the gayety in which she rightfully had a part.

The gold cup was brought forth and pa.s.sed from hand to hand. As it came to Patricia she looked at it inside and out, read the inscription leisurely, then handed it carelessly to her neighbor.

"Chaste and quite expensive," was her comment.

"Oh, I think it's beautiful," said Aurora, reprovingly.

"_Chaque enfant a son gou gou_, my dear," said Patricia. "You know, Aurora, I never did approve of golf prizes--especially valuable ones.

After all, golf is merely a game--not a religion. It's the habit in this club to consider a golf cup with the same kind of an eye that one gives to a possible seat in Paradise."

Even Steve Ventnor thought Patricia's remarks in bad taste.

"If Jimmy plays the game of life the way he played golf to-day," he laughed, "he'll have an eighteen-karat halo, and no mistake."

"Patty!" exclaimed Miss North, reprovingly. "You know you don't believe a word you say. You love golf prizes. Why you're always giving the Bachelors' Cup, and this year you've presented the cup for the 'Affinity Foursomes.' Besides, you've won at least three prizes yourself."

"I've reformed," said Patricia, decisively. "I've lost patience with golf. I haven't any interest in a game that requires the elimination of all human attributes."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"One can't be entirely human and play a good game of golf, that's all,"

she announced.

"That's rough on McLemore," laughed Mortimer.

"It's human to be irritated, human to be angry, human to have nerves, human to make mistakes. I've no patience with people who can't lose their tempers."

"I'm apt to lose mine, if you keep calling me names," said the Sphynx, affably.

"You couldn't, Jimmy," said Patricia, soberly. "Anyone who can make the tenth, eleventh and twelfth in eleven playing out of two bunkers will never lose his temper in this world--or anything else," she added, _sotto voce_.

"There won't be any more Bachelors' Cups, then?"

"Not if I can help it. At least not for the Ancient and Honorable Game as we play it now. The Bachelors' Cup this fall will be played for across country." The members of the party examined her as though they believed she had suddenly been bereft of her senses--all but her husband, who knew that in being surprised at Patty, one was wasting valuable energy, but even Mortimer was mildly curious.

"Across country!" they asked.

"Exactly. I'm going to invest the game with a real sporting interest, develop the possibilities of the niblick, eliminate the merely mechanical, introduce a stronger element of chance. The course will be laid out like a 'drag.'"

"With an anise-seed bag?" queried Crabb.

Patricia withered her husband with a look. "With sc.r.a.ps of paper," she a.s.serted, firmly. "The course will be four miles long over good hunting country."

"You can't mean it," said McLemore.

"I do. It's quite feasible."

"Yes, but----"

"It's a good sporting proposition," said Aurora North, suddenly kindling to interest. "Why not?"

Ventnor and McLemore only smiled amusedly, as became true golfers.

"Oh you can laugh, you two. Why not give it a trial? Just to make it interesting I'll offer a cup for the Club champion and runner-up. It will be a pretty cup--and Aurora and I will caddy."

"Willingly," laughed Aurora.

There the matter stopped. It was a joke, of course, and both men realized it, but any joke in which Aurora North had a part was the joke for them. A week pa.s.sed before Patricia completed her plans and in the meanwhile everybody had forgotten all about her amazing proposition. It was, therefore, with surprise and not a little amus.e.m.e.nt that McLemore and Ventnor received the dainty notice in Patricia's handwriting, which advised them that the Cross Country Match would be played off on the following Thursday afternoon, at two o'clock. Jimmy McLemore smiled at a photograph on the desk in his library, but later in the day after a talk over the telephone with Aurora he got a mashie, and a heavy mid-iron from his bag and went out in his own cow-pasture to practice. Steve Ventnor in his office in the city turned the note over in his fingers and frowned. Thursday was his busiest day, but he realized that he had given his promise and that if McLemore played he must. It was a very silly business. Several things mystified him, however. What did Patricia mean, for instance, by the absurd lines at the bottom of his invitation?

"Aurora will caddy for you; and don't wear a crimson vest--there's nothing to be gained by it."

On a slip of paper enclosed were the _local rules_:

(1) The first ball and every fourth ball thereafter may be played from a rubber tee.

(2) A ball in "casual" water may be lifted and dropped without penalty.

(3) Running brooks, ponds, rocks, fences, etc., are natural hazards, and must be played over as such.

(4) A lost ball means the loss of one stroke, but not of distance. A ball may be dropped within twenty-five yards of the spot where ball disappeared.

(5) _The match must be finished_ within four hours. The compet.i.tor who for any reason fails to finish loses the match.

Steve Ventnor smiled as he read, but in spite of his golf sense, which is like no other sense in the world, felt himself gently warming to the project. He would go of course--for Aurora was to caddy for him.

CHAPTER XX