“I’ve seen you play,” she said, calmly.
“Drive,” he said, with a chuckle. “I ought to put up a cup, oughtn’t I?”
“Make it a ride in that aeroplane thing of yours,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to see how it felt to fly. Not just go up and come down, but a regular fly.”
“Not a chance. Your father would assassinate me.”
“You haven’t much confidence in your game, have you? To beat a girl who gives you a stroke a hole.”
“We’d both break into print. Can’t you see it in type? ‘Hildegarde von Essen explores the firmament with Potter Waite,’ with some account of your career with number of fines for speeding, and references to myself. Not nice.”
“Fiddlesticks! We shouldn’t have to invite any reporters....”
“But they’d hear about it. They always do.”
“A stroke a hole,” she jeered.
“Very well. Give me a beating and I’ll take you flying.” He felt confident enough, for he played a fair game of golf.