“He is not priggish in the least,” was Phillis’s annoyed rejoinder.
“No? Well, appearances are sometimes deceptive: perhaps I was too hasty in my dread of being bored. But here comes your sister, I think,—at least, I have seen you together: so I am leaving you in good hands.” And, before Phillis could reply, he had lifted his hat and turned away, just as Nan, whose vigilant eyes were upon him, was hurrying to join her sister.
“Oh, Phillis, was that Mr. Dancy?” she asked, in a reproachful voice, as she hurried up to her.
“Yes, Nannie, it was Mr. Dancy,” returned Phillis, composedly; “and I wish I could have introduced him to you, for I believe he is coming to call on mother.” And, when she had related this astounding piece of intelligence, she looked in Nan’s face and laughed, and, in high good humor, proceeded to relate their conversation.
CHAPTER XXX.
“NOW WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER.”
One fine morning in September, Mr. Drummond was standing at the back of Milner’s Library, turning over the last new assortment of books from Mudie, when two gentlemen entered the shop.
Strangers were always interesting to Archie, and he criticised them under a twofold aspect—pastoral and social. In this way curiosity becomes a virtue, and a man with a mission is not without his interests in life. Hadleigh was Mr. Drummond’s sheep-walk, where he shepherded his lambs, and looked after his black sheep and tried to wash them white, or, in default of that, at least to make out that their fleece was not so sable after all: so he now considered it his duty to leave off turning over the pages of a seductive-looking novel, and to inspect the strangers.