"Wouldn't that be a British Possession now?" was the doubtful reply. And Philippa, chafing at the delay, could only smile at the question, and answer regretfully that she was afraid it wasn't.
The woman stretched out her hand for the Postal Guide, but the print was small, and necessitated the careful adjustment of a pair of spectacles before it could be deciphered, and finally the girl found the place herself, reckoned the amount and put down the money.
"I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you, miss," said the old dame with a curtsy. "'Tis kind of you to say that can stand over till Maggie's better. She just dropped off for a bit of sleep, and thought as how she would be safe like, seein' that we don't get no mor'n four or five of them things in a week these days—not but what there's more when the Major's at home; and Mr. Taylor, up to Chancey Hall, he's a wonderful one for them, but he's not at home now—gone for to find lions and tigers in some heathen country, so they tell me. Not but what Maggie she'd 'a' come down if you'd wished, miss. It don' do for to leave the machine by rights. That's against rules, that is; but what's a body to do when she comes over that queer with shootin' pains, an' her head a-whizzin' like Farmer Brown's threshin' engine. I thank you kindly, miss, and good-day to you."
Philippa hurried out. She had wasted more than ten minutes over the affair, and Francis would be weary of waiting.
"I am so sorry," she cried penitently, "I have been so long, but——"
As she was in the act of urging the pony to proceed he put out his hand and stopped her.
"Turn round," he said. "We will go home now."
She looked at him and saw that his face was white and his mouth drawn and hard.
"What is the matter?" she asked anxiously. "Do you feel ill?"
"No," he said shortly, "I am not ill; but I do not want to drive any farther."