The door was opening; he heard that warm vibrating voice: "Come along,
Phyllis!"--the girl's laugh so high and fresh: "Right-o! Coming!" And
with, perhaps, the first real tremor he had ever known, he crossed
to the front door. All the more chivalrous to escort them to the tram
without a hat! And suddenly he heard: "I've got your hat, young man!"
And her mother's voice, warm, and simulating shock: "Phyllis, you awful
gairl! Did you ever see such an awful gairl; Mr.---"
"Pillin, Mother."
And then--he did not quite know how--insulated from the January air by
laughter and the scent of fur and violets, he was between them walking
to their tram. It was like an experience out of the "Arabian Nights," or
something of that sort, an intoxication which made one say one was going
their way, though one would have to come all the way back in the same
beastly tram. Nothing so warming had ever happened to him as sitting
between them on that drive, so that he forgot the note in his pocket,
and his desire to relieve the anxiety of the "old man," his father. At
the tram's terminus they all got out. There issued a purr of invitation
to come and see them some time; a clear: "Jock'll love to see you!" A
low laugh: "You awful gairl!" And a flash of cunning zigzagged across
his brain.
Pages:
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118