A wild shot from Clara’s partner a few minutes later resulted in a scattering of the little party, searching for the ball.  For the first time Borrowdean found himself near Mrs. Handsell.

“I must have a few words with you before I go back,” he said, nonchalantly.

“Say that you would like to try my motor car,” she answered.  “What do you want here?”

“I came to see Mannering.”

“Poor Mannering!”

“It would be,” he remarked, smoothly, “a mistake to quarrel.”

They separated, and immediately afterwards the ball was found.  A little later on the round was finished.  Clara attributed her success to the excellence of her caddie.  Mrs. Handsell deplored a headache, which had put her off her putting.  Lindsay, who was in a bad temper, declined an invitation to lunch, and rode off on his bicycle.  The rest of the little party gathered round the motor car, and Borrowdean asked preposterous questions about the gears and the speeds.

“If you are really interested,” Mrs. Handsell said, languidly, “I will take you home.  I have only room for one, unfortunately, with all these clubs and things.”

“I should be delighted,” Borrowdean answered, “but perhaps Miss Mannering—­”

“Clara will look after me,” Mannering interrupted, smiling.  “Try to make an enthusiast of him, Mrs. Handsell.  He needs a hobby badly.”

They started off.  She leaned back in her seat and pulled her veil down.

“Do not talk to me here,” she said.  “We shall have a quarter of an hour before they can arrive.”

Borrowdean assented silently.  He was glad of the respite, for he wanted to think.  A few minutes’ swift rush through the air, and the car pulled up before a queer, old-fashioned dwelling house in the middle of the village.  A smart maid-servant came hurrying out to assist her mistress.  Borrowdean was ushered into a long, low drawing-room, with open windows leading out on to a trim lawn.  Beyond was a walled garden bordering the churchyard.

Mrs. Handsell came back almost immediately.  Borrowdean, turning his head as she entered, found himself studying her with a new curiosity.  Yes, she was a beautiful woman.  She had lost nothing.  Her complexion—­a little tanned, perhaps—­was as fresh and soft as a girl’s, her smile as delightfully full of humour as ever.  Not a speck of grey in her black hair, not a shadow of embarrassment.  A wonderful woman!

“The one thing which we have no time to do is to stand and look at one another,” she declared.  “However, since you have tried to stare me out of countenance, what do you find?”

“I find you unchanged,” he answered, gravely.

“Naturally!  I have found a panacea for all the woes of life.  Now what do you want down here?”

“Mannering!”

“Of course.  But you won’t get him.  He declares that he has finished with politics, and I never knew a man so thoroughly in earnest.”