The Veiled Man by Ambrose Pratt — Read

Everybody who was anybody in Stayton played golf. The links were situated near the cliffs, and just sufficiently distant from the town to reduce the din and clatter of the docks into a vaguely bell like hum of sound. Stayton was proud of its links, because the country was supposed to be the most difficult for driving purposes in England. It was broken up with ravines and clumps of wind-blown trees, and tussocks manifold. One could lose oneself quite easily in the gorsey valleys, or even on the hills, especially in couples. Many matches had been made there, both golf and matrimonial. The place was seldom quite deserted, but on afternoons and holidays it wore a gay inhabited appearance that mocked the barren seeming of the soil.

Lord Cawthorne could not play golf, but when Mrs. Toombes represented to him how necessary it was that he should learn (from the social point of view), he thankfully permitted her to teach him. But he proved a somewhat too enthusiastic and vigorous a pupil for her liking. She had thought it would be nice to play without caddies, so that they might seek for lost balls together; she was not blindly devoted to the game. But the Earl's eyes were as sharp as any hawk's, and he always found the tiny sphere too quickly. He was, moreover, so strong and tireless himself that he could not easily be brought to understand why a mile's brisk tramping should leave her breathless. Her compensation, however, was in the comments of her friends, who refused to believe that a handsome young man and a lovely young woman could spend two hours a day in each other's company without flirting. And they did flirt sometimes, on the homeward stroll, though never while the game progressed. But always very harmlessly; a matter of challenging glances and bluff outspoken compliments; and only until they began to like each other more than superficially and recognise the fact. In a week they were sworn friends, and knew each other's lives in fairly intimate particulars. Francine told the Earl a thing no other soul had guessed, that she had buried her heart in her husband's grave. On this part he confessed to her that he had begun to find his mysterious cousin, John Deen, a tyrant, under whose rule he could not help but chafe.