Mary did not want Eloquent, for she greatly desired to run, but he followed with such alacrity she had not the heart to forbid him. He walked beside her, or, more truly, he trotted beside her, through the village street, for Mary went at such a pace that Eloquent was almost breathless. He found time, however, to tell her that he had paired at the House on Friday, and took the week-end just to look after Miss Gallup, who had seemed rather low-spirited since her illness. They did the distance in record time, and outside the gates they found Mr Ffolliot waiting.
"I've been to see Miss Gallup, father, she has been ill, and I looked in to inquire. . . . I don't think you know Mr Gallup."
Mr Ffolliot bowed to Eloquent with a frigidity that plainly proved he had no desire to know him.
"I regret," Mr Ffolliot said in an impersonal voice, "that Miss Gallup has been ill. Do you know, Mary, that it is ten minutes past five?"
"Good evening, Miss Ffolliot," Eloquent said hastily; "it was most kind of you to call, and it did my aunt a great deal of good. Good-evening, Mr Ffolliot." He lifted his hat and turned away.
Mr Ffolliot stood perfectly still and looked his daughter over. From the crown of her exceedingly old hat to her admirable boots he surveyed her leisurely.
"Don't you want your tea, father?" Mary asked nervously, "or have you had it?"
"I did want tea, at the proper hour, and I have not had it; but what I want much more than tea is an explanation of that young man's presence in your society."
"I told you, father, I went to see Miss Gallup, who has had bronchitis, and he had come down from London for the week-end to see her, and so he walked back with me."
"Did you know he was there?"