“And how long a time will it take to show you?” said Holden.
It came to her how unescapable he was; what significance had his direct mind read into her replies? She was grave, with a certain distress and indecision in her face.
“I can’t tell. I mean you must not ask me to—you must not expect—I cannot—”
“Do you go at your deals as hard as this?” she smiled.
“Worse than this,” he said earnestly. “There’s no consideration there—much worse.”
“Worse!” cried Cissy Fitz Hugh, catching the word as she and Longacre, foremost of the riders, came abreast the runabout.
“Golf—worse than railroad deals,” replied Florence so quickly that Longacre, who had had time to note Holden’s annoyance, gave her a long consideration.
“But you don’t stay out of a game because it’s hard, Holden,” he said. “Suppose we make a foursome.”
Florence felt a quickened heart—a thrill that was more than excitement, too keen for joy. Had he looked at Holden as at a rival? Was he trying, this negligent Longacre, to arrange to speak with her, to be near her? Did he miss her so much? He must miss her more.
He handed her out at the club veranda, both her hands in his, and she could not help giving him one of her old looks. It got away from her. She saw him flush under it. It went to his head.
She kept close to Holden. She walked out to the tee with him, as inconsequently happy, and, she told herself, as silly, as a girl. She knew that Longacre had builded on his knowledge that, while he and she played a fairly fast game, Cissy was a notably wild shot and Holden a duffer. But Florence chose to assume Holden to be her partner, again relegating Cissy to Longacre; and she waived to Cissy the right of the first drive, which, though wild, covered a long space in a forward direction. Longacre’s face, flushed, quivering with irritation, his drive off—a smashing crack that sent the ball a spinning streak—were with her memory over all the course, but she managed her game to keep just from blocking Holden’s, seeing Longacre well away at the second green as the greater party came out to the tee.
Diligently coaching Holden, she managed to keep far enough ahead of all but one, the most hardy, the most headlong player on the links. Florence felt pursued and hurried on by that ringing voice, detaching itself in her ears from all other sounds and voices. “Fore!” it rang out, vibrant, musical, across the brown downs.