"Your wife is a vandal," she told him. "I am surprised that you have not made her into more of a sportswoman."
He would have spoken, but she rattled on. "Did they tell you how they ran into us down here ten days ago? Wasn't it queer? And what do you think that silly Mrs. Costin thought?—why, that Mrs. Lawless was Mr. Dakers' wife! We had such a laugh over it, didn't we?" she appealed to her sister.
Marie had flushed crimson. She looked appealingly across at her husband, and was stunned by the look of anger in his eyes—anger with her, she knew. With a desperate effort she pulled herself together.
"I wonder if people thought any of the women Chris played golf with in Scotland were his wife?" she said.
Mrs. Heriot screamed with laughter.
"That's the first time I've ever seen you hit back," she cried, clapping her hands. "You dear, delightful child."
Feathers pushed back his chair and rose.
"Are we obliged to waste all the day here?" he asked. "I thought the main object was to play golf."
Mrs. Heriot followed him with alacrity, and her sister glanced at Marie.
"What are you going to do?" she asked. "You'll find it very tiring 193 walking round with us, I'm afraid; the sun is so hot."