He had a very poor opinion of himself just at this moment.
Just then Mrs. Barrimore appeared, looking very girlish, in a muslin morning-gown, which had sprigs of lavender upon a white ground.
Philip rose and placed a chair for her, and when she was seated, leaned over and kissed her.
“You have a new dress on, mother,” he remarked. “It is very pretty—but—isn’t it a bit young for the mother of a big son like me?”
He spoke with gentle raillery, but the mother was a little hurt.
“Do you really think that, Philip?” she asked anxiously. “I told Colonel Lane last night that you thought I ought not to wear hats. He thought it nonsense.”
“Don’t you attend to Philip’s foolish remarks, Annie,” put in Uncle Robert. “A woman is as young as she looks—and you look about five-and-twenty.”
“I can’t help looking young,” said Mrs. Barrimore apologetically.
“You ought not to want to help it,” Uncle Robert told her.
“She doesn’t!—do you, mummy?” laughed Philip, looking with affection at the delicate face blushing so rosily.