'Mary is my cousin. My name is Mabel.'
'But you said you had sprained your wrist playing in the championship.'
'So I had. The mallet slipped in my hand.'
'The mallet!' Mortimer clutched at his forehead. 'You didn't say 'the
mallet'?'
'Yes, Mortimer! The mallet!'
A faint blush of shame mantled her cheek, and into her blue eyes there
came a look of pain, but she faced him bravely.
'I am the Ladies' Open Croquet Champion!' she whispered.
Mortimer Sturgis cried aloud, a cry that was like the shriek of some
wounded animal.
'Croquet!' He gulped, and stared at her with unseeing eyes. He was no
prude, but he had those decent prejudices of which no self-respecting
man can wholly rid himself, however broad-minded he may try to be.
'Croquet!'
There was a long silence. The light breeze sang in the pines above
them. The grasshoppers chirrupped at their feet.
She began to speak again in a low, monotonous voice.
'I blame myself! I should have told you before, while there was yet
time for you to withdraw. I should have confessed this to you that
night on the terrace in the moonlight. But you swept me off my feet,
and I was in your arms before I realized what you would think of me. It
was only then that I understood what my supposed skill at golf meant to
you, and then it was too late. I loved you too much to let you go! I
could not bear the thought of you recoiling from me. Oh, I was
mad--mad! I knew that I could not keep up the deception for ever, that
you must find me out in time. But I had a wild hope that by then we
should be so close to one another that you might find it in your heart
to forgive. But I was wrong. I see it now. There are some things that
no man can forgive. Some things,' she repeated, dully, 'which no man
can forgive.'
She turned away. Mortimer awoke from his trance.
'Stop!' he cried. 'Don't go!'
'I must go.'
'I want to talk this over.'
She shook her head sadly and started to walk slowly across the sunlit
grass. Mortimer watched her, his brain in a whirl of chaotic thoughts.
She disappeared through the trees.
Mortimer sat down on the tee-box, and buried his face in his hands. For
a time he could think of nothing but the cruel blow he had received.
This was the end of those rainbow visions of himself and her going
through life side by side, she lovingly criticizing his stance and his
back-swing, he learning wisdom from her. A croquet-player! He was
married to a woman who hit coloured balls through hoops. Mortimer
Sturgis writhed in torment. A strong man's agony.
The mood passed. How long it had lasted, he did not know. But suddenly,
as he sat there, he became once more aware of the glow of the sunshine
and the singing of the birds. It was as if a shadow had lifted. Hope
and optimism crept into his heart.
