She began to realize now that the startling novelty was over; that it was not altogether pleasant to be married secretly to a man who was gone to India for no one could tell how long.
It would be ages, too, before she could even get a letter from him. (She had, without consulting Philip, arranged that these letters should be enclosed under cover to him.)
One morning, after a particularly sharp contest with the Colonel, Phyllis got on her bicycle and rode over to Gissing, to see if perhaps Philip had a letter for her.
She had told no one where she was going.
Philip, who had given up writing at night, having found the experiment too wearing, was hard at work by the open window, when the aggressive and continued ringing of a bicycle bell caused him to look up.
Dismounting at the gate, the fair Phyllis made straight for the window, where Philip’s head was in full view.
She nodded with an air of camaraderie as she fixed a button in her white blouse.
“I’ve come!” she announced rather unnecessarily, it would seem.
She was looking very charming, though, having lost a few hairpins during her ride, a tail of bright hair lay upon one shoulder.
She put her bicycle against the privet hedge and advanced to the open window.