Under her rakish cap her eyes were rather defiant. She did not want pity; she almost dared him to pity her.
“Come round again with me, Audrey, won't you?”
“I'm off my game to-day. I'll wander along, if you don't mind. I'll probably sneeze or something when you're driving, of course.”
“Nothing,” he said, gravely approaching his ball, “so adds distance to my drive as a good explosive sneeze just behind it.”
They talked very little. Audrey whistled as she walked along with the free swinging step that was characteristic of her, and Clayton was satisfied merely to have her companionship. She was not like some women; a man didn't have to be paying her compliments or making love to her. She even made no comments on his shots, and after a time that rather annoyed him.
“Well?” he demanded, after an excellent putt. “Was that good or wasn't it?”
“Very good,” she said gravely. “I am only surprised when you do a thing badly. Not when you do it well.”
He thought that over.
“Have you anything in mind that I do badly? I mean, particularly in mind.”
“Not very much.” But after a moment: “Why don't you make Natalie play golf?”