“I doubt very much,” said Aunt Aggie, “whether I could read it now. It would seem strangely old-fashioned, I daresay, I’m sure to a modern young man like yourself, Mr. Mark.”
Philip took the book from her; he opened it, read Katherine’s answer, laid the volume very carefully upon the table.
“I can assure, Miss Trenchard,” he said, “a glance is enough to assure me that ‘Pride and Prejudice’ is and always will be my favourite novel.”
Katherine moved to the table, picked up the book, and slipped the paper from the leaves into her belt. For an instant her hand touched Philip’s.
Aunt Aggie looked at them, and satisfied with hot tea, a fire, a perfect conscience and a sense of her real importance in the business of the world, thought to herself—“Well, this afternoon at any rate those two have had no chance.”
She was drowsy and anxious for a little rest before dinner, but her guard, she assured herself with a pleasant little bit of conscious self-sacrifice, should not be relaxed....
Eleven had boomed that night, from the Abbey clock, when Philip Mark took his stand opposite the old house, looking up, as all the lovers in fiction and most of the lovers in real life have done, at his mistress’ window. A little red glow of light was there. The frosty night had showered its sky with stars, frozen into the blue itself in this clear air, a frozen sea; an orange moon scooped into a dazzling curve, lay like a sail that had floated from its vessel, idly above the town; the plane trees rustled softly once and again, as though, now that the noise of men had died away, they might whisper in comfort together. Sometimes a horn blew from the river, or a bell rang.
Philip waited there, and worshipped with all the humility and reverence of a human soul at the threshold of Love.
The lights in the house went out. Now all the Trenchards were lying upon their backs, their noses towards the ceilings, the ceilings that shut off that starry sky. They were very secure, fenced round by Westminster. No danger could threaten their strong fortress.... Their very dreams were winged about with security, their happy safety was penetrated by no consciousness of that watching, motionless figure.