“He came back yesterday,” said Miss Clara.
They had reached Bolton Street, and here Jeannie had to turn off.
“Good-bye, Miss Clifford,” she said. “I’m so glad I met you, and told you myself.”
Miss Clifford felt herself a mere mass of congested sentiment which for the life of her she could not put words to.
“I must go home,” she said, “for Phœbe and I are going calling this afternoon. And, oh, I can not say things, but God bless you, dear Miss Avesham!”
CHAPTER XVIII
Jeannie was standing on the first tee of the Wroxton golf links, doing what is technically known as addressing her ball. In other words, her driver was moving spasmodically backward and forward behind it, and she was thinking about her right foot. Some six yards behind her stood two impassive caddies, and Jack was standing opposite her ball and to the right of her.
“Don’t press,” he said, “and go back slowly. Let your left heel come off the ground quite naturally as the club goes back. Oh, keep your head still! Your spine is a pivot round which the arms work. And keep your eye on the ball.”
Jeannie’s club trailed very slowly back to about the level of her right shoulder, when suddenly an idea struck her, and she paused.
“Jack, how can I see my club head on the back swing out of my left eye if I am to look at the ball?” she asked.