“May we leave it open, Kate? I can, I know, give you a day or two, but may I leave the time and number open? Felicia shall go to you to-morrow, and I will join you as soon as may be.” His face had regained its full serenity, and Mrs. Merrick was forced to accept the galling concession.
When she had driven off, Felicia picked up her spade and resumed her digging. Her father stood in the path watching her.
“Could one of Spenser’s heroines be imagined digging?” he mused. “The day, the flowers—you among them—bring Spenser to my mind.”
“I could imagine Britomart gardening if she had nothing bigger on hand to do,” said Felicia. “But I am not a Britomart type.”
“And yet you are not unbelligerent, Felicia;—an indolent, unroused Britomart. But I don’t see you in armour. Charming, that white dress drenched with sunlight.”
“And with water. I saw Aunt Kate disapproving; no wonder. I suppose we must go to her? Aren’t you sometimes rather tired of Aunt Kate and her parties?”
“My dear child, selfishness is the besetting danger of a congenial isolation such as ours. We must think of her and of your uncle. And then”—Mr. Merrick paused as his daughter made no reply—“it is well that you should have these distractions.”
“How refuse, when we have only German idealism as an excuse?” Felicia remarked.
“A very good one were we self-centred enough to urge it. But you may find these people interesting, Felicia; I really wonder that Kate managed to get people as interesting to come to her. Young Daunt is a very clever fellow. He speaks well and keeps a position of quite extraordinary independence.”