When Sir Robert came down to luncheon he found Barbara looking particularly radiant and charming, already presiding at that meal and conversing in her best French to the foreign gentlemen, who were paying her compliments.

“Forgive me for being late,” he said; “first of all I have been talking to your uncle, and afterwards skimming through the articles in yesterday’s papers on our little venture which comes out to-morrow.  A cheerful occupation on the whole, for with one or two exceptions they are all favourable.”

“Mon Dieu,” said the French gentlemen on the right, “seeing what they did cost, that is not strange.  Your English papers they are so expensive; in Paris we have done it for half the money.”

Barbara and some of the guests laughed outright, finding this frankness charming.

“But where have you been, Miss Champers?  I thought that we were going to have a round of golf together.  The caddies were there, I was there, the greens had been specially rolled this morning, but there was no You.”

“No,” she answered, “because Major Vernon and I walked to church and heard a very good sermon upon the observance of the Sabbath.”

“You are severe,” he said.  “Do you think it wrong for men who work hard all the week to play a harmless game on Sunday?”

“Not at all, Sir Robert.”  Then she looked at him and, coming to a sudden decision, added, “If you like I will play you nine holes this afternoon and give you a stroke a hole, or would you prefer a foursome?”

“No, let us fight alone and let the best player win.”

“Very well, Sir Robert; but you mustn’t forget that I am handicapped.”

“Don’t look angry,” she whispered to Alan as they strolled out into the garden after lunch, “I must clear things up and know what we have to face.  I’ll be back by tea-time, and we will have it out with my uncle.”

The nine holes had been played, and by a single stroke Barbara had won the match, which pleased her very much, for she had done her best, and with such heavy odds in his favour Sir Robert, who had also done his best, was no mean opponent, even for a player of her skill.  Indeed the fight had been quite earnest, for each party knew that it was but a prelude to another and more serious fight, and looked upon the result as in some sense an omen.

“I am conquered,” he said in a voice in which vexation struggled with a laugh, “and by a woman over whom I had an advantage.  It is humiliating, for I confess I do not like being beaten.”

“Don’t you think that women generally win if they mean to?” asked Barbara.  “I believe that when they fail, which is often enough, it is because they don’t care, or can’t make up their minds.  A woman in earnest is a dangerous antagonist.”

“Yes,” he answered, “or the best of allies.”  Then he gave the clubs and half-a-crown to the caddies, and when they were out of hearing, added, “Miss Champers, I have been wondering for some time whether it is possible that you would become such an ally to me.”