And
suddenly he heard her say:
"Why do you know such awful men?"
"What? I don't know any awful men."
"Oh yes, you do; one came here yesterday; he had whiskers, and he was
awful."
"Whiskers?" His soul revolted in disclaimer. "I believe I only know one
man with whiskers--a lawyer."
"Yes--that was him; a perfectly horrid man. Mother didn't mind him, but
I thought he was a beast."
"Ventnor! Came here? How d'you mean?"
"He did; about some business of yours, too." Her face had clouded over.
Bob Pillin had of late been harassed by the still-born beginning of a
poem:
"I rode upon my way and saw
A maid who watched me from the door."
It never grew longer, and was prompted by the feeling that her face
was like an April day. The cloud which came on it now was like an April
cloud, as if a bright shower of rain must follow. Brushing aside the two
distressful lines, he said:
"Look here, Miss Larne--Phyllis--look here!"
"All right, I'm looking!"
"What does it mean--how did he come? What did he say?"
She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile,
verbena, hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered:
"I wish you wouldn't--I wish mother wouldn't--I hate it.
Pages:
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183