“And perhaps he thinks that he’s generous,” said Rosa.
They did it very nicely, he thought. They were really very charming—not a bit like any other girls he had ever met.
“You don’t need a conscience, I’ll bet,” he said. “What do you ever do to keep it up to its work?”
“If we stay here another five minutes it will be working overtime,” laughed Priscilla. “Good-bye, Mr. Wingfield, and receive our thanks for shelter, and a—a—most unusual afternoon.”
“Good-bye. You have done a particularly good turn to a chap to-day, and don’t you forget it. I’ll go to the door with you.”
He walked with them to the pillared porch and said another good-bye in a different key.
They heard him close the hall door, and they knew that he would have to go to a window of the dining-room if he wished to watch them departing on the carriage drive.
They wondered—each of them on her own account—if he had hurried to that particular window.
“He is not so silly as he promised to be the first five minutes we came upon him,” said Rosa, when they were approaching the entrance gates.
“Not nearly. As a matter of fact I found him entertaining.”