Philip had left his seat, and walked up and down the room; his way of doing so gave me a feeling that he wanted to walk off some unusual consciousness of irritability. I felt half provoked and half sorry for him.
At that moment—we were alone in the drawing-room—the door opened, and Miss Larpent came in.
"I cannot find Sophy," she said, peering about through her rather short-sighted eyes, which, nevertheless, see a great deal sometimes; "do you know where she is?"
"I saw her setting off somewhere with Nugent," said Philip, stopping his quarter-deck exercise for a moment.
"Ah, then it is hopeless. I suppose I must resign myself to very irregular ways for a little longer," Miss Larpent replied with a smile.
She is not young, and not good looking, but she is gifted with a delightful way of smiling, and she is—well, the dearest and almost the wisest of women.
She looked at Philip as he spoke. She had known us nearly since our babyhood.
"Is there anything the matter?" she said suddenly. "You look fagged, Leila, and Philip seems worried."
I glanced at Philip. He understood me.
"Yes," he replied, "I am irritated, and Leila is——" he hesitated.