Harlberg spread out his hands in a gesture of protestation. “I have nothing to do with it, my dear,” he said, almost petulantly. “You are quite old enough to choose for yourself; and if our friend Count Zarka wishes to marry you, why, he has a tongue in his head, and a pretty glib one too.”
“I only wish you not to encourage him in that idea,” Philippa said.
“You may be sure I shall not,” he replied, taking up his novel again with a suggestion that argument was fatiguing, and he did not feel just then in the humour for it. The girl was far from sure, but, realizing the uselessness of further discussion, she said no more.
Meanwhile Lieutenant Von Tressen had saddled his horse and ridden post haste in search of the doctor. Having found the only practitioner of which the little place boasted, and arranged for him to come out to Gorla’s Farm without delay, he was starting back again, when he saw on the other side of the street a face which he recognized.
“Galabin!” he shouted. “So it is, by Jupiter. Why, Horaz, my friend, what on earth brings you here?”
The other man, on hearing his name called out, had glanced up quickly with a look of mingled suspicion and annoyance. But on recognizing Von Tressen his expression changed to a smile; he went across and shook hands.
“What on earth are you doing in these outlandish parts?” the Lieutenant repeated.
“Is it only in the military service that men take holidays?” Galabin retorted.
“A holiday?”