"There was very little to tell. I was glad to be of use."
A pause followed, and Philip rose. "If you will excuse me, I want to have a few words with my brother-in-law." And he made his way round the table to where Sir John was sitting silent, not attempting to make conversation. His wife was perhaps right when she declared that John was the worst host in the world; but his wine was excellent if his company was not, and his guests were contented with the former.
Meanwhile in the drawing-room Miss Baker had attached herself to the guileless Lady Flint, who was willingly drawn into confidences respecting her son's boyhood. Here was a nice, unaffected girl; it was no effort to talk to her, especially as she was anxious to talk about Philip, and had seen Philip in India, had seen how he lived and how hard he worked.
"It must be so lovely for you to have him at home again," said this charming young lady.
"Yes, my dear, it is a great comfort and pleasure, but I don't feel quite happy about him. He has changed a good deal."
"Well, it's a long time since you last saw him, isn't it?"
"I don't think he looks well."
"Neither do I, but he will soon be all the better for the change to England."
"He was a delicate child though he grew up quite strong. You see, he was born in India, and I couldn't bring him home till he was nearly seven years old." The old lady prattled on, and Miss Baker listened with such encouraging interest that Lady Flint plunged deep into the subject of Philip's childish ailments, the difficulties over his education, the agonies of parting with him just when she felt he most needed her care.