“I am sure I am not,” he acknowledged.
The luncheon of cold chicken, with a salad and iced claret, proved much to the young woman’s liking, and she did ample justice to it. Phyllis had a good healthy appetite.
Afterwards they drank coffee in the verandah, and Philip smoked; then Phyllis demanded that they should go out and see the White House and the farm.
As they crossed the field, Phyllis linked her arm in that of her companion and began to talk animatedly of Charlie.
Philip did not find all this particularly interesting. To hear another person’s perfections dilated upon seldom is to anyone.
As they neared the White House, they saw Mrs. Le Breton walking with Eweretta in the garden.
Both women saw them, and the elder quickly drew the younger one away.
“Was that poor Aimée Le Breton?” asked Phyllis with eager curiosity.
“Yes,” said Philip. “Come away!”
“What a pretty girl!” cried Phyllis, with generous admiration. “How Dan would like to paint her!” Then lowering her voice to tones of sympathy, she added: “Was Eweretta really like that?”