Then he said a peculiar thing. He seldom swore, and seldom lost his head as completely as he did that second. But, looking her full in the eyes, he ejaculated below his breath:—
"Damn golf!"
The observation was utterly irrelevant. Turning, he clicked his heels together like a soldier and went out. The door closed behind him. For a second her face was illumined as with a great joy. In a sort of ecstasy, she repeated his words.
"He said," she whispered—"he said, 'Damn golf.'" Then she threw herself into a wicker chair and began to sob.
"Oh!" she choked. "If—if—"
CHAPTER XXII
A CONFESSION
Monte left Nice on the twentieth of July, to join—as Peter supposed—Madame Covington in Paris. Monte himself had been extremely ambiguous about his destination, being sure of only one fact: that he should not return inside of a year, if he did then. Peter had asked for his address, and Monte had given him the same address that he gave Marjory.
"I want to keep in touch with you," Peter said.