“Lizzie, you are a fool!” she said.
“You said to give you time, Tish.”
“Well, you did!” she snapped. “Time to drown.” She then turned to Mr. Anderson and said, “Take me in, please. And go slowly. I think I’ve swallowed a fish.”
I got her into the cottage and to bed, and for an hour or two she maintained that she had swallowed a fish and could feel it flopping about inside her. But after a time the sensation ceased and she said that either she had been mistaken or it had died. She was very cold to me.
Mr. Anderson called that afternoon to inquire for her, and we took him to her room. But at first he said very little, and continually consulted his watch and then glanced out the window toward the links. Finally he put the watch away and drew a long breath.
“Four-seven,” he said despondently. “Just on time, like a train! You can’t beat it.”
“What is on time?” Tish asked.
“It’s a personal matter,” he observed, and lapsed into a gloomy silence.
Aggie went to the window, and I followed. The pretty girl had sent her ball neatly onto the green and, trotting over after it, proceeded briskly to give it a knock and drop it into the cup. He looked up at us with hopeless eyes.
“Holed in one, I suppose?” he inquired.