Dan noticed then for the first time that his companion was growing thinner, and that her face was pale in spite of the brisk ride.
“Do you not feel well?” he asked suddenly, and in a very sympathetic voice.
“Oh, please don’t pity me!” cried Phyllis, flushing up to the roots of her hair. “That is the last thing I could stand from you.”
Dan was much troubled, and not a little puzzled.
“I am sorry,” was all he found to say.
“I am well enough,” broke out Phyllis, “but I have troubles—like other people.”
Dan was bewildered. The tone in which the girl spoke hinted at something serious. A lover’s “tiff” was a trifling matter. If she and Philip had fallen out they would fall in again.
“Take long views, my dear girl,” he said kindly. “Clouds pass, you know.”
She laughed a bitter little laugh.
“Clouds do,” she said in a hard voice, “but tragedy doesn’t. There are things that last all one’s life.”