She quickened her pace a little as the clubhouse came in sight. She did not desire his company. She hardly considered him.
They had tea outside in the shade of a tree. Mrs. Heriot was very quiet. She looked rather sullen.
"Have you got a headache?" Marie asked sympathetically. She felt that to-day she could even be nice to this woman.
Mrs. Heriot's sister broke in spitefully: "Headache! Of course she hasn't. She lost the game, that's all, and it always makes her sulky."
Mrs. Heriot flushed.
"We'll take you on again after tea, and beat you," she said. "We 199 never should have lost, only Chris slacked off."
She shot him an angry glance.
Feathers took no interest in the conversation. He had had one cup of tea, refusing anything to eat, and sat back in his chair, his hat tilted over his yes, smoking hard.
Marie hardly glanced in his direction, but she was painfully conscious of his every movement. Her thoughts all the time were picking out little incidents of their friendship, translating them anew, hugging their meaning to her heart.
She did not know that Chris was watching her closely—would not have cared if she had known. For once she had been lifted above the level of pain and disappointment to which marriage with him had relegated her.