“Why don’t you help look for it?”
“Searching for balls,” he insisted, “is a caddy’s occupation. Both the caddies are now busy. Let us sit down here. These sand hummocks are delightful. It is perfectly sheltered, and the sun is in our faces. Golf is an overrated pastime. Let us sit and watch that little streak of blue find its way up between the white posts.”
She hesitated for a moment.
“We shall lose our place.”
“There is no one behind.”
She sank on to the little knoll of sand to which he had pointed, with a resigned sigh.
“You really are a queer person,” she declared. “You have been playing golf this morning as though your very life depended upon it. You have scarcely missed a shot or spoken a word. And now, all of a sudden, you want to sit on a sand hummock and watch the tide.”
“I have been silent,” he told her, “because I have been thinking.”
“That may be truthful,” she remarked, “but you wouldn’t call it polite, would you?”
“The subject of my thoughts is my excuse. I have been thinking of you.”