"Lady," said Bill, "if I don't mind, why should you?"
"I think you're an angel!" gushed Beth.
"Yep," replied Bill, "I am; but don't tell anybody."
While Mary and Russell were discussing the theory of the mixed foursome old Bill made a terrific mashie shot out of the grass, and the ball reached the edge of the green. Beth applauded wildly, Mary chimed in, but Davidson did not open his mouth. He was irritated, and made no secret of it, but his irritation did not keep him from dropping the next shot on the putting green.
Bill didn't even blink when Beth took her putter and overran the hole by ten feet. Beth said she knew he'd never, never speak to her again in this world, and she couldn't blame him if he didn't.
"Well," said Bill cheerfully, "you gave the ball a chance, anyhow. That's the main thing. It's better to be over than short."
"You're a perfect dear!" said Beth. "I'll do better—see if I don't."
Mary then prepared to putt, Russell's approach having left her twelve feet short of the hole. "And be sure to get it there," cautioned her partner. "It's uphill, you know. Allow for it."
Mary bit her lip and hit the grass an inch behind the ball. It rolled something less than four feet.
"Hit the ball! Hit the ball!" snapped Russell angrily. "What's the matter with you to-day?"