"Oh!" she said, weakening a little in the caustic attitude she had assumed. "If it comes down to a matter of bookkeeping perhaps we can effect a compromise."
XX
"To-day, Connie, is Saturday, to-morrow is the Sabbath, in which we are not permitted to toil, neither can we spin, and on the day which followeth we sail," Huntington remarked at luncheon.
Cosden regarded his companion critically. "It doesn't rhyme so I know it isn't poetry; then it must be Scripture."
"Freely paraphrased, it means that this afternoon is the last opportunity we shall have to exercise our golf-clubs on Bermudian soil."
"Enough said," Cosden answered sententiously; "I'll be ready whenever you are. What a relief it will be to play on a real course again when the season opens at home!"
"I admit that this is the one great deficiency of an otherwise admirably ordered resort," Huntington agreed. "Still, it is a whole lot better than no course at all, so let us be philosophers.—I'll be ready in an hour."
The afternoon's round proved an eventful one to Huntington. Not that his clubs were under better control, or that he was less penalized by the atrocious lies encountered so frequently. Not that he succeeded in defeating his opponent, which was usually the measure of an eventful day; but he found Cosden in a state of mind which gave him infinite relief.