‘Lord save us!’ he exclaimed; ‘here have I been talking of my own affairs so long you will never speak to me again, Carrie. Come, let me show you the path through the park, and as you love me, talk of some other matter!’
Carrie laughingly obeyed, talking in her turn of herself, and then they talked of childhood (that was not so very far behind either of them), and of Patty and of Peter. (‘He’s about the only man I respect in this world; if I could do my duty like him I should be proud,’ said Phil. ‘Why, he has never been late with my shaving-water for years.’ At this statement Carrie glanced up with a little grimace of amusement at Phil’s rather peach-like cheek, and he laughed ringingly. ‘Well, that is mayhap something of an exaggeration,’ he admitted.)
And so they sauntered on, abundantly amused with each other, till Carrie remembered with dismay the lateness of the hour, and bidding Phil a hurried farewell, ran off down the road in the direction of Forde.
Phil called after her as she ran: ‘Come again to-morrow, Carrie.’ And so they parted.
CHAPTER XVIII
It was not the nature of Mr. Philip Meadowes (as may have been gathered from his talk) to be reticent upon any subject. He had the acumen, however, which most talkative persons lack, to choose his listeners carefully; but with those whom he trusted Phil had absolutely no reserves. Chief among his confidants was Peter, the grave-faced elderly man-servant who had cuffed his ears in childhood, and now had discreetly forgotten the fact.
This evening, as Peter brought in his young master’s wine, Phil, lying back in a chair, the book he had been reading thrown carelessly on the floor, addressed him quite impatiently.
‘Why, where have you been all afternoon, Peter?’ he said.—‘Now whom do you think I met to-day, by all that is curious?’
Peter laid down the tray he carried, picked up the book from the floor, smoothed its ruffled pages, and made a feint of guessing.
‘Mayhap the parson, sir?’ he said.