"Guess she's better agin, for she's gorn out to git a breath o' fresh air. Will yer please to step in and wait. I dare say she would like to see yer when she comes back."
Needing no second invitation, Geoff followed Mrs. Harbert into the house.
The pretty little sitting-room was full of Evarne's personality. Here were the flowers he had brought her; here too were her books, her drawing-board, her writing-case; there was the embroidered footstool on which she had sat during his previous visit. Everything sang to him of Evarne. There were the really charming pictures on the walls, signed with her initials, that she had amazed him by showing as her own handiwork. There was her little work-box, and across it lay the long strip of embroidery on which he had seen her diligently creating silken blossoms. Moved by a sudden longing to hold in his hand something that she had touched, Geoff picked up this and surveyed it with the minute scrutiny of an apparent connoisseur in art needlework.
Philia was speaking to him somewhat reproachfully. She imagined that now, having the culprit under her thumb, she could, with all due regard for politeness, give him a "piece of her mind."
"I must tell yer first that I ain't bin told who it is worryin' my pore gal, but I warrant if they'd bin 'ere to see 'er last night they'd 'ave bin fair ashamed of themselves. She was roamin' the 'ouse like a wanderin' spirit, and in the mornin' she was jist as white as 'er nightgown. It seems to me that to make anyone really un'appy without rhyme or reason—and I won't believe Evarne is in the wrong—as I was sayin', to make anyone real miserable is a big thing to 'ave on one's mind in this 'ere world o' sin and woe, full o' the slings and arrers of houtrageous fortune as it is—Shakespeare! In plain talk, sir, a world where we're all certain to 'ave quite enough trouble to digest without them as we cares for most forcin' a hextry dose down our gullets. And no stray flowers, nor even rings nor sich-like, makes up for unkindness—not to the noble mind—Shakespeare! I've lived with Evarne for five years and more, and she's never 'ad one hour's sorrow through my fault. Hexcuse me if I'm takin' liberties I didn't ought, but you've bin 'ome from foreign parts less than a week, and for some reason or other now she's made fair miserable—by someone or other! I'm not sayin' by who, but it's very 'ard for me to see it and not say nothin' at all."
Philia paused, somewhat apprehensive at having thus let her feelings carry her away. But Geoff was not displeased by this ardent championship.
"My dear Mrs. Harbert," he said seriously, "if it is my fault—and to a certain extent I'm afraid it is—believe me that it was both unintentional and indirect. Evarne shall never have a moment's trouble that I can save her from, be very sure of that."
He walked to the window and looked out.
"I wonder where she is now?" he went on. "Do you think she will be long?"
"Can't say where she is. She jist says, 'It's suffocatin' indoors,' she says, and out she goes. Most likely she'll be back by seven. Anyway, I'm due at the 'Poly' at 'alf-past."