Now, if there was a man that Philip disliked more than another it was this Simon Prior. A tall man, with shoulders so high that he seemed to be always shrugging them, and with prominent eyes that had a look of bullying challenge in them, he certainly did not carry innocence upon his face. He always assumed great familiarity with Phil—another point against him with the young man. But he, this morning, was so at a loss for a new shiver as almost to welcome this man; could he possibly yield him any amusement?
‘Yes, my father is at Fairmeadowes, sir,’ he said in response to the elder man’s greeting, and they fell into step.
‘And you, Philip? Once upon a time you too loved Fairmeadowes—why are times so changed?’
‘Age, sir, age,’ laughed Philip. ‘And indeed I am become very old, for I can hit on nothing will amuse me these days.’
‘A sad case. What have you tried?’
Phil was prudent; he might almost have been a Scotsman from his reply—
‘What, sir, would you recommend?’
‘Oh, there are many ways for passing the time, Philip.’
‘That’s not all I wish. ’Tis—’tis—oh, there’s no new thing under the sun!’
‘Women!—there’s considerable variety there,’ began Prior, and he treated Phil to one of his bullying stares.