Archie smiled:
“I am glad she does not send for me. I have not been there for a long time. Sarcasm is not an attractive form of welcome. It slams the door in a man’s face. I hope you will not get some hard hits, Miss Challoner.” And then he went on his way.
As she approached Mrs. Williams’s cottage, Mr. Dancy was, as usual, leaning against the little gate. He stepped out in the road, and accosted her.
“I have not called on your mother,” he began, rather abruptly. “After all, I thought it best not to trouble her just now. Can you spare me a few minutes? or are you going in there?” looking towards the White House.
“I am rather in a hurry,” returned Phillis, surprised at his manner, it seemed so agitated. “I am already late, and Mrs. Cheyne will be expecting me.”
“Very well: another time,” he replied, stepping back without further ceremony; but until Phillis’s figure disappeared in the trees he watched her, leaning still upon the little gate.
Mrs. Cheyne received her with a frosty smile; but, on the whole, her manner was more gracious than usual, and by and by it thawed completely.
She was a little captious at first, it was true, and she snubbed poor Miss Mewlstone decidedly once or twice,—but then Miss Mewlstone was used to being snubbed,—but with Phillis she was sparing of sarcasms. After a time she began to look kindly at the girl; then she bade her talk, rather peremptorily, because she liked her voice and found it pleasant to listen to her; and by and by Phillis grew more at her ease, and her girlish talk rippled on as smoothly as possible.
Mrs. Cheyne’s face softened and grew strangely handsome as she listened: she was drawing Phillis out,—leading her to speak of the old life, and of all their youthful sources of happiness. Then she fell into a retrospect of her own young days, when she was a spoiled madcap girl and had all sorts of daring adventures.
Phillis was quite fascinated; she was even disappointed when Miss Mewlstone pointed out the lateness of the hour.