‘Not a doubt, and there’s where the mystery lies: things have to be a bit mixed in this world; and they get mixed somehow in spite of you. There ain’t nobody has found out yet a better plan of mixing them than nature herself.’
That was the counter-check; and Madge gave the checkmate.
‘But Philip does not want to alter the natural order of things: he only wants to help people to understand it, and be happy in obeying it.’
This pretty exposition of Philip’s purpose seemed to satisfy everybody, and so it was an evening of happy wonderment at Willowmere.
As he was about to go away, Aunt Hessy asked Philip how his uncle looked.
‘Oh—a good hearty sort of man,’ was the somewhat awkward answer, for he did not like to own even to himself that he had been somehow disappointed by the appearance and manner of Mr Shield; ‘but awfully quick and gruff. You will like him, though.’
‘I like him already,’ she said, smiling.
CHAPTER XXII.—HOME AGAIN.
Three passengers and the newspapers were brought to Dunthorpe station by the early London train on Wednesday morning. One of the passengers was a tall old gentleman, with straight silvery hair, a clean-shaven fresh face, and an expression of gentle kindliness which was habitual. But there was a firmness about the lips and chin which indicated that his benevolence was not to be trifled with easily. He stooped a little, but it was the stoop of one accustomed to much reading and thinking, not of any physical weakness, for his frame was stalwart, his step steady and resolute.
He asked the porter who took his travelling-bag in charge if there was any conveyance from Kingshope waiting.