“There is a very small one called the Friary,” returned Phillis, feeling herself color in the darkness, as she mentioned their humble abode. There was no answer for a moment, and then her mysterious neighbor continued:
“My good landlord seems to retire early; the whole place looks deserted. They are very early risers, and perhaps that is the reason. If you will allow me to pass, I will open the door and light a lamp in my little parlor. Even if you prefer to remain in the porch, it will look more cheerful.” And, without waiting for her reply, he took a key from his pocket, and let himself into the house.
Their voices had disturbed the owners of the cottage, and Phillis overheard the following colloquy:
“Dear sakes alive! what a frightful storm! Is there anything you want, Mr. Dancy?” in Mrs. Williams’s shrill tones.
“Not for myself, Mrs. Williams; but there is a young lady sheltering in the porch. I should be glad if you could come down and make her a little comfortable. The floodgates of heaven seem open to-night.”
“Dear, dear!” in a still more perplexed voice; “a young lady at this time of night,—why, it must be half-after nine. Very well, Mr. Dancy; beg her to come in and sit in your parlor a moment, and I will be down.”
But Phillis absolutely refused to comply with the invitation.
“I am not tired, and I am not a bit wet, and I like watching the rain. This is a nice little porch, and I have taken refuge here before. We all know Mrs. Williams very well.”
“She is a good creature, if she were not always in a bustle,” returned Mr. Dancy. “There, the lamp is lighted: that looks more comfortable.” And as he spoke he came out into the little hall.
Phillis stole a curious glance at him.