But as though he read her thoughts, Philip Orlebar was not the man to add to her discomfiture. He was thoroughbred, aux bouts des ongles, and with all his lightheadedness and devil-may-care jollity, was endowed with tact beyond the endowment of most Englishmen—young Englishmen at any rate.
“Good morning, Miss Wyatt,” he said, snatching the pipe from between his teeth. “Out among the narcissus already, I see. Just what I’ve been doing myself—though, as a rule, flower gathering isn’t much in my line. I only pick up an extra fine blossom now and again as I stroll along, which may account for the meagreness of my bunch,” exhibiting a small handful containing some dozen of stalks. “But you—you have got a grand bouquet.”
The unaffectedness of his address, the breezy lightheadedness of his tone, was not without its influence even upon her. The gravity of her reserve melted into a smile.
“They are so lovely,” she answered; “I couldn’t remain indoors a moment longer.”
“Just the state of the case with me. Surprising how great minds always jump together. But to be serious, I believe the blossoms up above there are larger than these. Some one or other in the hotel told me I ought to go and look at them, and I did,” added mendacious Phil. “That lazy dog, Fordham, wouldn’t move—planted himself at the end of a pipe in a cane chair in one of those arbours. I couldn’t stand that, so I started a stroll in a small way. Let me carry those for you.” And in a twinkling he had possessed himself of the two huge bunches of narcissus which she had gathered.
“Thanks. It’s a shame to burden you, though. Isn’t this a beautiful place?”
“Rather. Old Fordham is enthusiastic about it, and I don’t much wonder. He knows it well, you see. I never was here before in my life, but now I am here I’m in no hurry to move on. There are some grand walks and first-rate climbs to be had. You were saying last night you were looking forward to that sort of thing. I hope we shall be able to show you the way about a little. We must make up a party for a climb somewhere before this splendid weather changes. Fordham is worth any round dozen of guides.”
“But—we can hardly lay your friend’s good-nature under such a heavy contribution,” she said, with a queer little smile.
“Oh, can’t we! Old Fordham is the best fellow in the world—only wants knowing a bit. He’ll do anything he’s asked.”
That queer smile broadened round Alma’s lips. She had sat opposite the now eulogised Fordham during the whole of dinner-time; and, be it remembered, she was given to studying character. But she said nothing, and by this time they had regained the hotel.