CHAPTER X.
ARTHUR PHILLIPS HAS A HAPPY GLIMPSE OF THE FUTURE.
Arthur stood irresolutely wondering what he should do next. He had intended to ask Amy quietly to inform her friend of his presence here; but she had given him little or no opportunity to do that, as you have seen.
He looked round the library where the merchant had been accustomed to sit at his desk. There was no change in the room. The light elegant book-shelves were there. The grandly bound books were there as usual. Pens and ink and blotting pads all in their places; and the leather chair stood near the desk by the window; but the merchant lay quietly in his grave.
Presently Arthur rang the bell, and summoned up courage enough to send his card up to Phœbe Somerton, who presented herself almost immediately.
She was a good deal changed; but her black clothes seemed only to add a sort of refining touch to her beauty.
“I am so pleased to see you, Mr. Phillips,” she said frankly, putting out her hand, “if one really ought to be pleased at anything, considering that we have buried my father—I mean Mr. Tallant—to-day.”
Phœbe spoke with some restraint and hesitation, and Arthur was visibly nervous and excited.
“I am sure you will pardon me,” said Arthur, “if with the view of suppressing any embarrassment I tell you that I have been made acquainted with all that has taken place. I came down here from London yesterday, ignorant even of Mr. Tallant’s death; but I could not return without venturing to say to you, personally, how deeply, how respectfully, I sympathise with you in your troubles.”
There was a tone of deferential homage and sincere interest in Arthur’s manner which did not fail to make an impression upon Phœbe.
“I am sure I thank you sincerely, Mr. Phillips, and appreciate, as I hope I ought, your great kindness: I have frequently wondered why you had deserted Barton,” said Phœbe.