“I would much rather walk than ride,” Phyllis affirmed.
“Good,” said Langridge. “We will start early, and not walk too fast in this heat.”
“Luncheon is at one sharp,” put in the Colonel.
“That will give us good time,” Phyllis said.
“And, remember, you both dine with me at the ‘Albany’ to-night,” Langridge reminded her.
“How delightful!” cried Phyllis. “I love dining at hotels.”
Phyllis was certainly disposed to be very agreeable, Langridge thought, and he regarded it as a hopeful sign.
Phyllis, hugging her secret, and feeling very important, as being a married woman—also, it must be owned, struggling against a depression which she must hide—not a very deep depression certainly, for Phyllis had but a shallow nature—but depression, all the same; she craved excitement and entertainment to make her forget it. Langridge promised to be entertaining. He was very much in love, and men in love were always fun.
To Phyllis the situation was most romantic!
Colonel Lane had an old-fashioned house, with a garden, not far from St. Clement’s Church, chosen because it was roomy and cheap; and the garden having a high wall round it made a target possible, and the Colonel could amuse himself with his rifle.