The cunning of the woman held her from praise of Phyl’s goodness and mental qualities, or any over praise of the goods she was bringing to his attention.
“Has he spoken to her about it?” asked he.
“I’m sure to goodness I don’t know what I’m about telling you a thing that was told to me in confidence,” said the other. “Well, you promise never to say a word to Phyl or to any one else if I tell you.”
“I promise.”
“Well, he’s—he’s kissed her.”
Richard Pinckney leaned forward in his chair. He seemed very much disturbed in his mind.
“Does she care for him?”
“I don’t believe she does—yet. They always begin like that; girls don’t know their minds till all of a sudden they find some man who does.”
“Well, let’s hope she never cares for Silas Grangerson,” said he rising from his chair. “You know what he is.”
He left the room and went out on the piazza where the girl was sitting. He sat down beside her and they fell into talk.