“I think,” she said, “that we had better play golf.”
“But I have asked you to marry me,” he protested, as he scrambled up.
“Your caddy has found your ball a long time ago,” she pointed out, walking swiftly on ahead.
He played his shot and caught her up.
“Miss Fentolin—Esther,” he pleaded eagerly, “do you think that I am not in earnest? Because I am. I mean it. Even if I have only known you for a few days, it has been enough. I think that I knew it was coming from the moment that you stepped into my railway carriage.”
“You knew that what was coming?” she asked, raising her eyes suddenly.
“That I should care for you.”
“It’s the first time you’ve told me,” she reminded him, with a queer little smile. “Oh, forgive me, please! I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t want to have you tell me so. It’s all too ridiculous and impossible.”
“Is it? And why?”
“I have only known you for three days.”