She followed Viola swiftly out, waving her hand provokingly to Clarence.
"There's a way out on the other side of the garden," she called back casually.
"I've found a note from Philip, Viola," Phyllis called as they neared the house. "He's lunching out, it seems."
She handed Viola the note.
"I hav gon out too Lunchun," it stated briefly. "Yours Sincerely, Philip Harrington."
"He'll come back," his mother went on, with a perceptible relief in her voice. "He has a corps of old and middle-aged ladies about the village who adore him. He's probably at Miss Addison's—she's his Sunday-school teacher. He really should have come and asked, I suppose. Well, come in, Joy, and let us eat. Allan won't be back—he's gone off to some village-improvement thing that seems to think it would die without him."
They ate in solitary state, except for Angela, and after that nothing happened, except that they separated with one accord to take long, generous naps.
Joy was awakened from hers by Phyllis' voice, raised in surprise.
"But, Miss Addison!" she was saying, on the porch below Joy's window, in a tone that was part amusement, part horror.
Joy slipped on her frock and shoes and ran down to share the excitement. When she got down, Phyllis was just leading the visitor into the old Colonial living-room, and they were having tea brought in. Philip was nowhere to be seen.