“It must seem so. But your sister tells me that she expects you to be fit to make the trip home by the middle of next week. You’ll soon pick up at Elaine, I’ll bet. Why, hang it, Phil, if I were on my last legs and some kind person shipped me down there to your place I’d be out hunting the traction engine in a week!”
Phillip smiled, but the smile didn’t last. He put his hands together and began interlacing the fingers, just as Margaret had done, John thought, on the porch at Elaine that morning.
“That’s a jolly smelly bunch of violets,” said John.
“Yes, they’re very sweet.”
“Who sent them?” He leaned forward and read the card. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Phil!”
“It’s—it’s no secret,” said Phillip.
“Kingsford’s sister, Phil?”
“Yes.”
“I saw her once; an awfully nice-looking girl.”