He took as long as he could over dressing in order to put back the moment of seeing her, and when at last he went into the dining-room it was with a sinking heart. Prayers were over, and they were sitting down at breakfast.
“Lazybones,” Miss Wilkinson cried gaily.
He looked at her and gave a little gasp of relief. She was sitting with her back to the window. She was really quite nice. He wondered why he had thought such things about her. His self-satisfaction returned to him.
He was taken aback by the change in her. She told him in a voice thrilling with emotion immediately after breakfast that she loved him; and when a little later they went into the drawing-room for his singing lesson and she sat down on the music-stool she put up her face in the middle of a scale and said:
“Embrasse-moi.”
When he bent down she flung her arms round his neck. It was slightly uncomfortable, for she held him in such a position that he felt rather choked.
“Ah, je t’aime. Je t’aime. Je t’aime,” she cried, with her extravagantly French accent.
Philip wished she would speak English.
“I say, I don’t know if it’s struck you that the gardener’s quite likely to pass the window any minute.”
“Ah, je m’en fiche du jardinier. Je m’en refiche, et je m’en contrefiche.”