It was like being beset by a fly in summer.
'Are you going to Mr. Pennycomequick's?' asked Janet, panting. She was a little out of breath with walking to keep up with her companion.
'Yes.'
'I am not strong. My breath goes if I hurry, especially in going up-hill.'
'Then, madam, let me entreat you to spare your lungs and relax your pace.'
'But then—we shall be separated, and we are going to the same house. Would you mind going just a wee bit slower?'
Philip complied without a word.
He questioned for a moment whether he should inform his fellow-passenger of the news that the uncle was lost. But he reflected that he knew nothing for certain. The message he had received could hardly have been couched in vaguer terms. It was quite possible that his explanation of it was false; it was also not at all improbable that the alarm given was premature. If Salome were like the young scatter-brain walking at his side, she would be precisely the person to cry 'Wolf!' at the first alarm. He might have inquired of the porter whether Mr. Pennycomequick had met with an accident, or whether anything had occurred at his house; but he preferred to wait, partly because he was too proud to inquire of a porter, and partly because he was given no opportunity to questioning him out of hearing of his companion.
'Are you going to stay at uncle's?' asked Janet.
'I really am unable to answer that question.'