“Patty!” exclaimed Miss North, reprovingly. “You know you don’t believe a word you say. You love golf prizes. Why you’re always giving the Bachelors’ Cup, and this year you’ve presented the cup for the ‘Affinity Foursomes.’ Besides, you’ve won at least three prizes yourself.”
“I’ve reformed,” said Patricia, decisively. “I’ve lost patience with golf. I haven’t any interest in a game that requires the elimination of all human attributes.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“One can’t be entirely human and play a good game of golf, that’s all,” she announced.
“That’s rough on McLemore,” laughed Mortimer.
“It’s human to be irritated, human to be angry, human to have nerves, human to make mistakes. I’ve no patience with people who can’t lose their tempers.”
“I’m apt to lose mine, if you keep calling me names,” said the Sphynx, affably.
“You couldn’t, Jimmy,” said Patricia, soberly. “Anyone who can make the tenth, eleventh and twelfth in eleven playing out of two bunkers will never lose his temper in this world—or anything else,” she added, sotto voce.
“There won’t be any more Bachelors’ Cups, then?”
“Not if I can help it. At least not for the Ancient and Honorable Game as we play it now. The Bachelors’ Cup this fall will be played for across country.” The members of the party examined her as though they believed she had suddenly been bereft of her senses—all but her husband, who knew that in being surprised at Patty, one was wasting valuable energy, but even Mortimer was mildly curious.