She came in view at this moment, a trim little figure in a white skirt and a pale blue sweater.  She waved to Archie; and Archie, as always at the sight of her, was conscious of that jumpy, fluttering sensation about the heart, which, translated into words, would have formed the question, “What on earth could have made a girl like that fall in love with a chump like me?” It was a question which he was continually asking himself, and one which was perpetually in the mind also of Mr. Brewster, his father-in-law.  The matter of Archie’s unworthiness to be the husband of Lucille was practically the only one on which the two men saw eye to eye.

“Hallo—­allo—­allo!” said Archie.  “Here we are, what!  I was just hoping you would drift over the horizon,”

Lucille kissed him.

“You’re a darling,” she said.  “And you look like a Greek god in that suit.”

“Glad you like it.”  Archie squinted with some complacency down his chest.  “I always say it doesn’t matter what you pay for a suit, so long as it’s right.  I hope your jolly old father will feel that way when he settles up for it.”

“Where is father?  Why didn’t he come back with you?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, he didn’t seem any too keen on my company.  I left him in the locker-room chewing a cigar.  Gave me the impression of having something on his mind,”

“Oh, Archie!  You didn’t beat him again?”

Archie looked uncomfortable.  He gazed out to sea with something of embarrassment.

“Well, as a matter of fact, old thing, to be absolutely frank, I, as it were, did!”

“Not badly?”

“Well, yes!  I rather fancy I put it across him with some vim and not a little emphasis.  To be perfectly accurate, I licked him by ten and eight.”

“But you promised me you would let him beat you to-day.  You know how pleased it would have made him.”

“I know.  But, light of my soul, have you any idea how dashed difficult it is to get beaten by your festive parent at golf?”

“Oh, well!” Lucille sighed.  “It can’t be helped, I suppose.”  She felt in the pocket of her sweater.  “Oh, there’s a letter for you.  I’ve just been to fetch the mail.  I don’t know who it can be from.  The handwriting looks like a vampire’s.  Kind of scrawly.”

Archie inspected the envelope.  It provided no solution.

“That’s rummy!  Who could be writing to me?”

“Open it and see.”

“Dashed bright scheme!  I will, Herbert Parker.  Who the deuce is Herbert Parker?”

“Parker?  Father’s valet’s name was Parker.  The one he dismissed when he found he was wearing his shirts.”

“Do you mean to say any reasonable chappie would willingly wear the sort of shirts your father—?  I mean to say, there must have been some mistake.”

“Do read the letter.  I expect he wants to use your influence with father to have him taken back.”