If Mrs. Barrimore took a too affectionate and prejudiced view of Philip’s actions, Mr. Burns was, without intending it, a little unjust.
Philip had felt the death of his sweetheart acutely, and if he had more quickly than seemed altogether decent reconciled himself to the inevitable, it was surely a less selfish course than to have continued to “shout his grief from the house-tops.”
If the dead past could not bury its dead, life would be impossible.
The gardener had taken Soda round to the stables. There were stables at Hawk’s Nest, though no horses were kept. Mr. Burns preferred to hire when they needed to drive.
Philip would, of course, remain to luncheon.
Mrs. Barrimore and Phyllis, returning from their shopping expedition, saw the marks of the horse’s feet on the gravel, and both cried simultaneously:
“Philip is here!”
Philip saw his mother from the window and came out to meet her. She was radiant, till her son spoiled it all by saying: “Why, mother! Have you borrowed a hat and frock from Phyllis?”
He spoke banteringly, but all the same, the underlying displeasure in his voice was sufficiently apparent.
Tears sprang to Mrs. Barrimore’s eyes, but she squeezed them back and smiled bravely.