A Damsel in Distress

Reggie gave her back another paternal pat.

"I know what it means to be in love, dear old soul. I say, Maud,

old thing, do you find love puts you off your stroke? What I mean

is, does it make you slice your approach-shots?"

Maud laughed.

"No. It hasn't had any effect on my game so far. I went round in

eighty-six the other day."

Reggie sighed enviously.

"Women are wonderful!" he said. "Well, I'll be legging it and

fetching the car. When you're ready, stroll along down the road and

wait for me."

* * *

When he had gone Maud pulled a small newspaper clipping from her

pocket. She had extracted it from yesterday's copy of the Morning

Post's society column. It contained only a few words:

"Mr. Wilbur Raymond has returned to his residence at

No. 11a Belgrave Square from a prolonged voyage in his

yacht, the Siren."

Maud did not know Mr. Wilbur Raymond, and yet that paragraph had

sent the blood tingling through every vein in her body. For as she

had indicated to Reggie, when the Wilbur Raymonds of this world

return to their town residences, they bring with them their nephew

and secretary, Geoffrey Raymond. And Geoffrey Raymond was the man

Maud had loved ever since the day when she had met him in Wales.