He placed his hand upon her arm, and she ventured one more look into his eyes. He was frowning. She must not allow that. She must send him away in good spirits. That was the least she could do. So she forced a smile.
"All right," she promised; "if it will make you more comfortable."
"It would worry me a lot if I thought you were n't going to be happy."
"I'll go out every fair day."
"That's fine."
He took a card from his pocket and scribbled his banker's address upon it.
"If anything should come up where—where I can be of any use, you can always reach me through this address."
She took the card. Even to the end he was good—good and four-square. He was so good that her throat ached. She could not endure this very much longer. He extended his hand.
"S'long and good luck," he said.
"I—I hope your golf will be better than you think."