Things if left alone often do shape themselves.
Philippa had come to no decision as to the best course to pursue, when further revelations from Evelyn intensified her alarm.
“Philippa,” she began, the very next afternoon. “I don’t understand that Michael Gresham, and I almost think I dislike him as much as I like his cousin. Of course I have always thought him rough and abrupt, but that he is to every one, more or less. But now there is something in his manner to me almost indescribable—well, not exactly offensive, that is too strong a word, but approaching it—a sort of tacit disapproval, that I really cannot stand from a young man like that, who has nothing whatever to do with me. I would not stand it if he were my brother; I feel as if I should have an open quarrel with him before long if it goes on!”
Philippa felt cold with apprehension.
“Don’t talk of such a thing, Evey,” she said; “your first visit here, and the Greshams such old friends of these people! Nothing could be more disagreeable. You don’t mean to say that he has ever been actually rude to you?”
“No, nothing actually tangible. But he looks at me, especially when I am talking to his cousin, in a sort of hard, questioning way, as if he would like to pull me up for everything I was saying. At luncheon to-day Mr Gresham alluded again to the visit we are to pay him. He was asking about when I expect Duke back, and he turned to Michael with some remark about the shooting—I forget what, exactly—in connection with our going there, and the horrid young man scarcely answered. He was as gruff as anything.”
“But that was more rude to his cousin than to you,” said Philippa.
Evelyn shook her head.
“No, it had to do with me. I think Mr Gresham noticed it, in fact I am sure he did, for afterwards I saw them together as I was crossing the hall, and I think I heard Mr Gresham calling him a bear, or a boor, I’m not sure which.”
There was no time for more just then, as Evelyn was going out for a drive with Mrs Headfort, and the summons came, before her sister had time to do more than repeat one little word of warning, as Mrs Marmaduke flew off. But once she found herself alone, while mechanically occupying herself in arranging Evelyn’s things with her usual deft carefulness, the poor girl’s thoughts were by no means to be envied. Things were coming to a crisis, thanks to her sister’s innocent indiscretion and that—yes, she could join with Evelyn in calling him “that horrid young man”—that horrid young man’s impertinent interference; for that he was about to interfere she felt convinced, though as yet he could scarcely be said to have done so.