"If you'll let me," she said with a faint smile.
"Very well, Philippa; come along!" He held out his hand, laughing; the girl clasped it, a half humorous, half reproachful expression in her grey eyes.
"I don't mind your laughing, as long as you let me be with you," she said.
"Why, Philippa!" he said gayly. "What possesses you to be afraid that anything is likely to happen to me?"
"I don't know what it is," she replied seriously. "I seem to be afraid of losing you. Let me be with you—if it does not annoy you."
"You dear child, of course it doesn't annoy me. Only I don't want you to become morbid over the very nicest and frankest of friendships."
They were passing the garage now; he dropped her hand, asked her to wait for him a moment, turned into the service drive, went toward the stable. A sleepy groom responded to the bell, unlocked the doors, and fetched the key to the harness room.
Warner said to the groom:
"Give that fellow in there his breakfast and turn him loose. Tell him I'll kill him if I ever again catch him hanging around here."
The groom grinned and touched his cap, and Warner turned on his heel and rejoined Philippa.