She holed out with a smile.
“Three up and five to go,” proclaimed the Squire.
“Want to double the bet?” asked Lionel.
“No, boy, no.”
“I will, Lionel,” said Margot.
“Right again. Your drive, Joyce.”
The fourteenth at Bramshaw is a short hole, an easy mashie shot, if properly played. A topped shot rolls into thick whins. Joyce, still smiling, pitched her ball on the green and overran it. Margot got too much under her ball, which fell short of the green into the bunker guarding it.
“Two and four,” said Lionel. “We’re getting on, Joyce. I love playing with you.”
The Squire stared at his ball, and then failed to get it out of the bunker. He picked it up, looking sadly at a deep cut in its surface.
“My drive,” he said gloomily, fishing a new ball out of his pocket.