But Sir Philip had no time to say more, for just then some other wedding guests made their appearance in the drawing-room.
It was not till late that afternoon that Sir Philip had an opportunity of putting into practice his doughty resolve of “having it out” with little Ella. All had “gone off,” as the saying is, to perfection; the bride and bridegroom had driven away, most of the “assistants” had thoughtfully taken their departure and Madelene, poor Madelene, had ventured to shut herself up for an hour or two like the bride’s sister in the old song. She had some reason for tears, though scarcely as much as she made herself believe, but Ella in her new-born sympathy with her eldest sister, was almost inclined to exaggerate Madelene’s troubles, and ready to fly out like a little turkey-cock at any one who should venture to think lightly of them.
With the object of securing some quiet for Miss St Quentin, Ella had cleverly decoyed away the few younger guests who were remaining till the next day, out to the tennis-court, where, with Mrs Burton as chaperon, some sets were quickly arranged. But Ella herself hated tennis, she was glad to find she was not required to play, and seeing everybody apparently happily engaged, she strolled off a little way among the shrubberies by herself. A rustic bench in a shady corner tempted her; she sat down, gazing before her vaguely. She felt tired and strange, and the remembrance of the contretemps in the unlucky fernery that morning did not tend to soothe or calm her feelings.
“I wonder what they are going to settle about me,” she said to herself. “I—I should like to stay here if I could be any good to Madelene, but it doesn’t look as if that could be. And for some things I would like to go away and never come back again. I should like never to see Philip Cheynes again.”
A wish not to be fulfilled, for at that moment a quick step along the path made her look up, Philip stood before her. Ella’s eyes fell, and she grew red as she congratulated herself that her last words had not been spoken aloud. But she quickly looked up again, with a sort of cold inquiry in her face.
Philip smiled slightly as he caught her expression.
“Yes,” he said, “I knew you would be vexed at my following you. I kept out of the tennis on purpose. I must speak to you, Ella. I want to know what is the matter. Why did you behave so—uncivilly to me this morning—and before Omar, too?”
“I had overheard a little of what you were saying,” said Ella haughtily. “It was much the same sort of thing as—as that other time.”
Sir Philip muttered something between his teeth which Ella could not catch. Then suddenly to her surprise his tone changed; he turned to her with a smile.
“Are you glad Ermine is married?” he said. “Don’t you like West?”