Phyllis Lane had gone about always under the wing of Mrs. Barrimore since she had been left motherless, and had always been as the daughter of the house on Mrs. Barrimore’s “Wednesdays,” pouring out tea, entertaining less familiar guests, playing tennis or croquet when one more was needed to make up a “set,” but standing out if enough players could be found without her. Altogether Phyllis was a very useful as well as attractive presence on these occasions.
Now it had been on a Wednesday that Phyllis had ridden over to Gissing, so on her way home she resolved to call at Hawk’s Nest and make her apologies and explanations. She so timed her visit as to arrive at about six-thirty, when usually the last guest had departed.
She was slightly vexed as she approached the gate to see several smart young officers from the camp just leaving. She had missed some fun by her escapade, and her escapade could have waited.
On the croquet lawn Mrs. Barrimore was standing; very sweet she looked in her pearl-grey crêpe dress, with touches of coral pink in it, and the shady grey hat. But the girl thought there was a wistful look in her friend’s kind eyes.
“Phyllis! you naughty truant!” Mrs. Barrimore said in her low musical voice, as the girl approached her. “Where have You been? We have missed you dreadfully.”
Phyllis clasped both arms around Mrs. Barrimore’s slender waist and looked up into her kind face with roguish contrition.
“I ran away to pay a visit to Philip,” she said frankly. “Dad was as cross as two sticks, so I just made up my mind to let him eat his luncheon alone. Did he come?”
“No, dear; but you should not have gone to the bungalow without me,” said Mrs. Barrimore in gentle chiding.
Uncle Robert and Dan Webster suddenly appeared from between the trees which divided that part of the garden from the tennis lawn.
“Hallo! Phyllis! a day behind the fair—eh, what?” Uncle Robert called.