It was certainly worth while.
"I do not know you nearly well enough, Miss Mannering," he said, smiling, "to tell you what I really think.

But I can assure you that you don't seem a barbarian to me at all." She was suddenly grave.

It was her turn to play a stroke.

She examined the ball, carefully selected a club from her bag, and with a long, easy swing sent it flying towards the hole.
"Wonderful!" he murmured.
She looked up at him and laughed.
"Tell me what you are thinking," she insisted.
"That if I played golf," he answered, "I should like to be able to play like that." "But you must have played games sometimes," she insisted.
"When I was at Eton--" he murmured.
Mannering looked back, smiling.
"He was in the Eton Eleven, Clara, and stroked his boat at college.

Don't you believe all he tells you." "I shall not believe another word," she declared.
"I hope you don't mean it," he protested, "or I must remain dumb." "You want to go off and tramp along the ridges by yourself," she declared.