“I can trust you, mother, regarding this letter for Phyllis. I don’t want it mentioned.”
Mrs. Barrimore was arranging chrysanthemums in her flower-vases when Colonel Lane was announced. Mr. Burns had gone out to change some books at Brown and Woodley’s library.
A glance was sufficient for the woman who loved, to see that the old Colonel was well-nigh heart-broken.
“My dear friend!” she exclaimed, putting out both her hands to him and searching his face with agonized eyes, “what is it?”
Two tears stole down the strong, almost severe face of the soldier, which caused Annie’s own tears to gush forth.
“Tell me, dearest! tell me!” she pleaded.
“Phyllis has run away, Annie!” he told her, making a great effort to control himself.
Mrs. Barrimore thought of the letter in her pocket, but she could not betray Philip.
“I found out—accidentally—that she and Philip were lovers,” he said firmly. “I went over to the bungalow when I left you. Phyllis was there—hiding like a common housemaid—in Philip’s bedroom. There was a scene. I brought Phyllis home. She went to her room and would not come out. I left her there, as I thought, to get over her temper. This morning I forced the door. She was gone. I must go over and see Philip.”
“Philip has left suddenly for London,” gasped Mrs. Barrimore.