CHAPTER XXIII
Carrie and her father found it a little difficult to explain her sudden flight to Lady Mallow; but they patched up some sort of story that held together after a fashion, and before very long her Ladyship had forgotten all about Carrie’s escapade, as she considered it.
Carrie meantime had returned to London with her father, and the time passed slowly enough at first. But Carrie had not the nature that broods over the inevitable, and she quieted her heart better than most girls of her age would have done in the same trying circumstances. There were all the cheerful businesses of home to attend to—Carrie was a notable housekeeper,—and these, after the forced idleness and gentility of her stay at Lady Mallow’s, seemed doubly delightful. It was much more agreeable to eat the pasties and cakes of one’s own making, she thought, than those prepared by the most practised cook, and, moreover, there was a new and inspiring thought at work in Carrie’s brain. Some day she would be cooking all these good things for Philip! She did not stop to consider that Phil, like Lady Mallow, had servants to cook for him, so every day she would be trying new dishes, till Sebastian complained that the cuisine was too rich for his simple tastes, and Carrie blushed, and murmured something about her book of recipes. The afternoons, when her father was busy and her housekeeping labours were over for the day, were the longest time to get through. Carrie would take her needlework then and sit by the window, but she found plenty time for thought while she sewed, and her thoughts seemed always to travel in the direction of Wynford. Had Phil gone back to Oxford yet? she wondered; or was it possible he was come to town? When could she see him again? What was he doing? All the ingeniously ridiculous questions and suppositions of lovers passed through her head in these long afternoons of sewing. In the evenings Sebastian would take her out to walk or to the play, and Carrie could not be insensible of the admiration she excited in public places. Then summer wore away and winter was come. Carrie indulged in some new and very becoming winter garments, and was more fidgety than was her wont over the fit and the style of them. When these were ready she persuaded her father one fine Saturday afternoon to take her for an airing in the Mall. Sebastian hesitated a little, and professed himself too busy, but at last consented, and Carrie—exquisitely bewitching in her furry hood—walked at a slow pace down the Mall by his side, the admired of all admirers. Now there exists between some people a mysterious sympathy—telepathy, we call it in the nineteenth century, in the eighteenth it was not named—which premonishes them of meeting, just as the quicksilver in an aneroid will foretell the weather of the coming day. When Carrie dressed herself in all her bravery, and prayed her father for his escort, she was convinced deep down in her heart that she would meet Phil that day. She had no reason whatever to suppose that he was in town; she had walked out every day since they parted and never met him, but to-day she felt certain she would do so. It came to her therefore as no surprise to hear her father say—
‘Carrie, there comes Philip Meadowes.’ She did not need to be admonished of the fact.
‘May I speak with him, sir?’
‘No.’
They had passed almost before the question and answer were spoken. Carrie did not even bow to him in the passing, but she smiled a brilliant flashing smile and blushed like a rose.
‘Phil looks older, does he not, sir?’ she asked, as they walked along—only her quick-drawn breath and the excited little pinch she gave to her father’s arm betrayed her excitement.
Sebastian did not reply.
It was the next Sunday that Carrie made a delightful discovery: Phil had begun to come to church at St. Mary Minories! Carrie was just stifling a yawn behind her hand, when, across the little church, she caught sight of Phil. He sat just opposite her—why, why was the service so very short? Carrie, who was as regular a slumberer as she was an attendant upon Church services, now sat forward in the great square pew, wide awake, and any observant person must have noted how her eyes wandered across the church, and met those of the young man who occupied the opposite pew. Then she would flicker her eyelids and look down and blush an enchanting blush under the shade of the great feathered hat she wore, and then the same thing would be gone through over again. Phil, on his part, leant forward, staring unabashedly at Carrie. He was delighted to observe that her sole guardian during church hours was Lady Mallow, and Lady Mallow, like her niece, slept whenever it was possible to do so. After they had mutually made these pleasant discoveries I suppose it would have been difficult to find two happier young people than they were that morning. Every circumstance seemed to be fortunate for them, for Phil saw to his delight that Lady Mallow, whose pew was near the door, seemed to be in the habit of letting all the congregation disperse before she left it. This quite suited Phil. He walked slowly down the aisle and passed so near Carrie that his sleeve brushed hers for a moment—for Carrie had risen, and now fumbled at the door of the pew in the most opportune manner.
Carrie said nothing about this to her father; she thought the meeting had been accidental; but when another, and yet another, and yet another Sunday passed, and on each day she saw Phil, Carrie, out of the depth of her honest heart, found it necessary to tell Sebastian about it. She came and stood behind his chair, let her pretty white hands fall one over each shoulder, and laid her cheek against his.
‘Dear sir,’ she said, ‘I think I should tell you something—I think ’tis scarce honest in me to be silent about it.’
‘Eh?’ queried Sebastian, as he turned to kiss one of Carrie’s hands.
‘I must tell you, sir, that I see Philip Meadowes each Lord’s day at church in St. Mary Minories. I have never spoken with him, but I fear we look at each other most part of the morning.’
‘Well,’ said Sebastian, ‘what of it?’
‘May I continue to go to church, sir? I feared you might forbid me,’ said Carrie, her heart bounding with hope.
‘The deuce take your honesty, Carrie. Do you think I can forbid you now?’
Carrie laughed with delight—words after all were not everything. If once each week she could sit and gaze at Philip, a year and a half would surely pass quickly enough!