This occupied some part of the forenoon, and Philip was happy. But when he had completed his tale and began to feel the necessity of going out, and remembered that he had nowhere to go and nothing to do, the prospect was not alluring. He tried very hard to persuade his mother to go out with him, but this was a risk from which Elinor shrank. She shrank, too, from his proposal at last to go out to the park by himself.
"To the Row. I sha'n't know the people except those who are in Punch every week, and I shall envy the fellows riding—but at least it will be something to see."
"I wish you would not go to the Row, Pippo."
"Why, mother? Doesn't everybody go? And you never were here at this time of the year before."
"No," she said, with a long breath of despair. No; of all times of the year this was the one in which she had never risked him in London. And, oh! that he had been anywhere in the world except London now!
Philip, who had been watching her countenance with great interest, here patted her on the shoulder with condescending, almost paternal, kindness. "Don't you be frightened, mother. I'll not get into any mischief. I'll neither be rode over, nor robbed, nor run away. I'll take as great care of myself as if you had been there."
"I'm not afraid that you will be ridden over or robbed," she said, forcing a smile; "but there is one thing, Pippo. Don't talk to anybody whom you—don't know. Don't let yourself be drawn into—— If you should meet, for instance, that lady—who was in the theatre last night."
"Yes, mother?"
"Don't let her make acquaintance with you; don't speak to her, nor the girl, nor any one that may be with her. At the risk even of being uncivil——"
"Why, mother," he said, elevating his eyebrows, "how could I be uncivil to a lady?"