“Please!”
“What’ll you give me?”
“I refuse to bribe you. I’ll ask her.”
“I would. She’s sure to tell you. Listen, then. She said you were a nice boy but frightfully cheeky.”
Phillip moulded a slice of graham bread into a round wad and let drive. Kingsford dodged and it took one of the fellows at the far end of the table on the cheek. In the fracas which inevitably followed Kingsford made his escape.
Phillip made his call on Wednesday afternoon, taking good care not to appraise Kingsford of his intention, since the latter had solicitously offered to accompany him and by his presence remove some of the embarrassment. The Kingsford residence on Marlborough Street was very broad of front, very high of steps and very aristocratic of aspect, despite the fact that its stone and brick were faded and discoloured by age. An oriel window, quite palpably an addition of recent years, hung out over the doorway and was filled with ferns and carnations in profuse bloom.
Phillip was ushered into a surprisingly modern drawing-room and was presently joined by Mrs. Kingsford. During the next five minutes Phillip watched the hall door anxiously until his hostess, divining his thoughts, remarked:
“I’m very sorry that Elizabeth is not at home this afternoon. She is taking her painting lesson. She studies with Warrenton, the flower painter, and really does excellently, we think. Besides, she enjoys it greatly and it gives her something to interest her. I tell her I’m certain she must inherit her talent from me, Mr. Ryerson, for I used to do the most beautiful pink and yellow roses on plush plaques when I was her age! I used to think them very lovely.”
“I’m sure they were,” said Phillip earnestly.
After the first moment of blank dismay and disappointment, Phillip, to his credit be it said, set out to make himself agreeable to Betty’s mother and succeeded admirably. He had the true Southern reverence and courtesy toward women which, combined in his case with a youthful shyness, Mrs. Kingsford found grateful and even flattering. When he arose to go and took the hand she offered him he bent over it, as he had seen his father bend over his mother’s hand all his life, almost as though he was going to touch his lips to it. Mrs. Kingsford smiled.