“Yes.”
“So am I. What a lucky rencontre.”
He said another word or two, and then the four turned to walk down the High Street. Maggie walked on in front with Constance. Hammond fell to Priscilla’s share.
“I am delighted to see you again,” she said, in her eager, agitated, abrupt way.
“Are you?” he replied in some astonishment. Then he hastened to say something polite. “I forgot, we had not ended our discussion. You almost convinced me with regard to the superior merits of the ‘Odyssey,’ but not quite. Shall we renew the subject now?”
“No, please don’t. That’s not why I’m glad to see you. It’s for something quite, quite different. I want to say something to you, and it’s most important. Can’t we just keep back a little from the others? I don’t want Maggie to hear.”
Now why were Miss Oliphant’s ears so sharp that afternoon? Why, even in the midst of her gay chatter to Constance, did she hear every word of Priscilla’s queer, garbled speech? And why did astonishment and even anger steal into her heart?
What she did, however, was to gratify Prissie immensely by hurrying on with her companion, so that she and Hammond were left comfortably in the background.
“I don’t quite know what you mean,” he said, stiffly. “What can you possibly have of importance to say to me?”
“I don’t want Maggie to hear,” repeated Prissie, in her earnest voice. She knew far too little of the world to be in the least alarmed at Hammond’s stately tones.