“Long drives mean long talks,” she said. “We begin at least with the respect of our caddies. You’ll never guess what I was doing when you called up!”
“At the organ, or in the studio putting a nose on somebody?”
“Wrong! I was planting tulip bulbs. This was a day when I couldn’t have played a note or touched clay to save my life. Ever have such fits?”
“I certainly do,” replied Bruce.
Each time he saw her she was a little different—today he was finding her different indeed from the girl who had played for him, and yet not the girl of his adventure on the river or the Millicent he had met at the Country Club party. There was a charm in her variableness, perhaps because of her habitual sincerity and instinctive kindness. He waited for her to putt and rolled his own ball into the cup.
“Sometimes I see things black; and then again there does appear to be blue sky,” he said.
“Yes; but that’s not a serious symptom. If we didn’t have those little mental experiences we wouldn’t be interesting to ourselves!”
“Great Scott! Must we be interesting to ourselves?”
“Absolutely!”
“But when I’m down in the mouth I don’t care whether I’m interesting or not!”