“Oh-h! Conceited young man!”
And spinning round he saw Phyllis in the doorway. Her light brown hair was fluffed out on her shoulders, so that he felt a kind of fainting-sweet sensation, and murmured inarticulately:
“Oh! I say—how jolly!”
“Lawks! It's awful! Have you come to see mother?”
Balanced between fear and daring, conscious of a scent of hay and verbena and camomile, Bob Pillin stammered:
“Ye-es. I—I'm glad she's not in, though.”
Her laugh seemed to him terribly unfeeling.
“Oh! oh! Don't be foolish. Sit down. Isn't washing one's head awful?”
Bob Pillin answered feebly:
“Of course, I haven't much experience.”