'There was no taximeter accident.'
'Ah!' said Mrs Milsom.
'The fact is, I have been playing in a golf tournament.'
Margaret uttered an exclamation of surprise.
'Playing golf!'
Archibald bowed his head with manly resignation.
'Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you arrange for us to meet on the
links? I should have loved it.'
Archibald was amazed.
'You take an interest in golf, Margaret? You! I thought you scorned it,
considered it an unintellectual game. I thought you considered all
games unintellectual.'
'Why, I play golf myself. Not very well.'
'Margaret! Why didn't you tell me?'
'I thought you might not like it. You were so spiritual, so poetic. I
feared you would despise me.'
Archibald took a step forward. His voice was tense and trembling.
'Margaret,' he said, 'this is no time for misunderstandings. We must be
open with one another. Our happiness is at stake. Tell me honestly, do
you like poetry really?'
Margaret hesitated, then answered bravely:
'No, Archibald,' she said, 'it is as you suspect. I am not worthy of
you. I do _not_ like poetry. Ah, you shudder! You turn away! Your
face grows hard and scornful!'
'I don't!' yelled Archibald. 'It doesn't! It doesn't do anything of
the sort! You've made me another man!'
She stared, wild-eyed, astonished.
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