He tried Vardon "On the Swing", and the words swam before his
eyes. He turned to Taylor "On the Chip Shot", and the master's pure
style seemed laboured and involved. He found solace neither in Braid
"On the Pivot" nor in Duncan "On the Divot". He was just about to give
it up and go to bed though it was only nine o'clock, when the telephone
bell rang.
"Hello!"
"Is that you, Mr. Waters? This is Eunice Bray." The receiver shook in
Ramsden's hand. "I've just remembered. Weren't we talking about
something last night? Didn't you ask me to marry you or something? I
know it was something."
Ramsden gulped three times.
"I did," he replied hollowly.
"We didn't settle anything, did we?"
"Eh?"
"I say, we sort of left it kind of open."
"Yuk!"
"Well, would it bore you awfully," said Eunice's soft voice, "to come
round now and go on talking it over?"
Ramsden tottered.
"We shall be quite alone," said Eunice. "Little Wilberforce has gone to
bed with a headache."
Ramsden paused a moment to disentangle his tongue from the back of his
neck.
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