o the match. Godfrey was on the point
of playing: he had this, a ten footer, to halve the hole and the match.
There was silence and then the gentle tap of the club on a rubber-cored
ball. One gazed, one shouted. The ball had lipped the hole and swung
out to the left.

In the car they fought the whole match over again.

"If only I hadn't given you the sixteenth this morning----"

"No, it was my fault. If I miss two-foot putts, you can't be
expected----"

And thus during the whole journey superb concentration on an end to be
won, superb oblivion to work and wealth and weariness.

Martin found Freda yawning in the porch.

"I thought you were staying upstairs all day," he began.

"Who said so?"

"The maid, I think."

"Well, I never said anything about it. You don't seem very glad to see
me."

"Of course I am. Only I meant that I would have come back earlier if I
had known."

"I wouldn't keep you from your golf."

He sat beside her, but she did not welcome him. She was hurt.

"If I'd only known, I wouldn't----"

"Day after day," she whispered. "I know you like to be out and about.
I don't claim you always, do I? But sometimes, surely."

"I didn't know," he repeated remorsefully. "I didn't know."

"Yesterday you went and to-morrow you'll go."

"No, I won't. Freda, I'm a brute. I've been rotten to you. I've
nothing to say for myself."

"You've got to go to-morrow."

"I won't. You don't want me to go."

"You must go. I'm not going to keep you, if you don't stay of your own
accord. The ball is much more amusing than I am."

He pleaded, he fought against her, but she insisted on his going.

The punishment was effective. He went in anguish and played with no
zest for the game. He sliced, he topped, he missed short putts. The
match fizzled out on the fourteenth green, a fiasco.

The Cartmells hurried back to London and Martin remained to make peace
with Freda. He had been unspeakably pained by the sordidness and waste
of energy and peace that quarrelling had entailed. He hated the
suspicions and embarrassments that must linger on: he was passionately
desirous of restoring the old intimacy and yet ... somehow or other the
wound remained. He couldn't forget that evening on the ninth green.
Why wouldn't Freda see the point of these things? Why wouldn't she
walk? She was strong enough now for a mile or two. Almost he was
angry with her for having been ill, for it is an odd feature