‘Ah—then I know who they are from, and in that case there is no hurry at all, for the mail does not leave until Monday.’
Mr Hadleigh addressed himself to Madge—no sign of annoyance in voice or manner.
‘May I be permitted to have a few minutes’ conversation with you in private, Miss Heathcote?’
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ broke in Philip hastily; ‘I did not understand you to mean that you found me in the way.—If your aunt should ask for me, Miss Heathcote, I shall be in the garden.’
With a good-natured inclination of the head, he went out. And as he walked down the garden path filling his pipe, he muttered to himself thoughtfully: ‘Seems to me he grows queerer and queerer every day. What can be the matter with him? If anybody else had asked for a private interview so solemnly, I should have taken it for granted that he was going to propose.... Daresay he wants to give some explanation of that confounded row, and make his apologies through Madge. I should like him to do that.’
But Mr Hadleigh was neither going to propose nor to make apologies. He smiled, a curious sort of half-sad, half-amused smile, and there was really something interesting in the expression of his eyes at the moment.
‘The truth is, Miss Heathcote, that I cannot acknowledge weakness before Philip. He is such a reckless fellow about money, that he would tell me I ought to give in at once to the labourers.’
‘I am sure he would not, Mr Hadleigh, if he thought you were in the right.’
‘I am not one likely to hold out if convinced that I am in the wrong.’
‘Few men do under these conditions, Mr Hadleigh,’ said Madge, smiling.