“Who is it?” impatiently demanded the chorus.  Chilvers has all the arts of an actor in working for a climax.

“Miss Grace Harding; that’s all!” said Chilvers.

“The famous beauty?” cried Miss Ross.

“Last season’s society sensation in Paris and London?” exclaimed Miss Dangerfield.

“Daughter of the great railway magnate?” asked Marshall.

“The one to whom Baron Torpington was reported engaged?” I added.

“You all have guessed it the first time,” laughed Chilvers.  “She’s the only daughter of Robert L. Harding, magnate, financier, Wall Street general, the man who recently beat the pirate kings down there at their own game.  How much is Harding supposed to be worth, Smith?”

“Thirty millions or so,” I replied.

“Well, I wish I had the ‘so.’  That would keep me in golf balls for a while,” Chilvers continued, turning his attention to the ladies.  “What show have you unfortunate girls against a combination like that?  And think of Percy LaHume!  What will that poor boy do?  Percy heads for the richest heiress of each season with that same mighty instinct which leads a boy to cast wistful glances at the largest cut of pie.  He thought the heiresses had quit coming, and now this happens; but he has gone so far in his campaign for the hand and cheque-book of Miss Lawrence, that he cannot stop quick without dislocating his spine.  I doubt if that poor little Lawrence girl will ever have more than five millions.”

“Never mind Percy and his prospects,” said Marshall.  “Who told you that Miss Grace Harding is coming to Woodvale?”

“Carter told me,” replied Chilvers.  “Carter knows them.  The whole Harding family is coming, which includes Croesus, his wife, and their fair daughter, aged nineteen or thereabouts.  Ah! why did I marry so soon?”

Mrs. Chilvers was standing back of him and soundly boxed his ears.

“How does it happen that the Hardings are coming here?” asked Mrs. Chilvers, when told the cause of this excitement.  “Are they Mr. Carter’s guests?”

“Mr. Harding is a charter member of Woodvale,” I informed her.  “For some unknown reason he joined the club when it started, but has never been here, and I doubt if he has ever played golf.  He is the owner of the majority of the bonds issued against this clubhouse.”

“I wonder if Miss Harding plays golf?” said Boyd.

“Golf is not among the list of accomplishments mentioned by those writers who pretend to know all about her,” remarked Chilvers.  “I have been forced to learn from a casual reading of society events that this remarkable heiress is without an equal as an equestrienne, that she paints, sings, drives a sixty-horse-power Mercedes with a skill and a courage which discourages the French chauffeurs, and does other athletic and artistic feats, but I have yet to learn that she golfs.”

“I presume,” I said, “that she will take up the game, and also the turf.  The three Hardings doubtless will form one of those delightful family parties which add so much to the merriment of a golf course.  I can shut my eyes and see them hacking their way around the links; the daughter pretty and more anxious to show off the latest Parisian golfing costumes than to replace a divot; the father determined, perspiring, and red of face, and the mother stout and always in the way.”