After his visitors had gone, Philip was so angry and so upset that he could not stay indoors. He took his hat and strode across the field towards the White House.
He had no conscious intention to go there, but finding himself at the gate, he entered.
He must get a change of some sort. That idiotic little Phyllis had spoiled all chance of work for him. He felt in great need of sympathy.
It was Pierre who admitted him, and great was his surprise to find, not the bulky Colonial as he had expected, but Miss Le Breton having tea alone.
“Bring another cup, Pierre,” Eweretta said, with great self-possession, when she had given her hand to Philip. “I am sorry, Mr. Barrimore, but both my mother and my uncle have driven into Hastings,” she said calmly, “but I expect them back any moment now.”
She sat at the little tea-table, a beautiful, composed figure, in a closely-fitting dark blue dress. She seemed to create an atmosphere of peace around her. The bright firelight made purple glints in her black hair.
“You will find me a dull companion, I fear, Miss Le Breton,” Philip said lamely. “I don’t know why I came. I have had a very unpleasant quarter of an hour with Colonel Lane.”
She looked inquiry.
“You see,” he blurted out (he must speak), “Colonel Lane has got the idea I want to marry his daughter, and he is furious.”
“And don’t you?” she asked quietly.