“Where have you been?” said Mrs Headfort; “with papa?”
“No,” Philippa replied, “I’ve been up in my own room.”
“You might have stayed with me the last evening,” her sister continued, with a touch of reproach. “And I must go to bed immediately—poor mamma’s unhappy about my looking so ill.”
Philippa glanced at her critically.
“I don’t wonder,” she said; “you certainly are not looking well. Yes, I think the best thing you can do is to go to bed. Let me see, what time do you leave to-morrow?”
“Not till eleven—that’s to say, eleven from this house. The train goes at twelve.”
Philippa’s face grew grave.
“Don’t think it horrid of me,” she began, “but I can’t possibly be here to say good-bye to you at eleven, or to go to the station with you. I must be at Marlby before then, to-morrow morning.”
“Well, if you’re to be there, why not come to the station to see me off?” said Evelyn. “I shall think it rather horrid of you if you don’t!”
“I am very sorry,” Philippa replied, “very sorry to seem horrid, but I can’t even see you off.”