Phyllis's eyes had opened very wide; so that he wondered if she had taken in his words.
“No, it's beastly altogether. If only we were like birds. Or if one could put out a plate overnight, and have just enough in the morning to use during the day.”
“There's only one thing in life that matters--independence. Lose that, and you lose everything. That's the value of money. Help me up.”
Phyllis stretched out her hands, and the little dog, running down her back, resumed its perch on the window-sill, close to the blind cord.
“Give me a kiss. You'll have your satin tomorrow.”
The young man, giving Phyllis one appealing look, answered dully: “Tha-anks!” and they went out together to the taxi. In that draughtless vehicle they sat, full of who knows what contempt of age for youth; and youth for age; the old man resenting this young pup's aspiration to his granddaughter; the young man annoyed that this old image had dragged him away before he wished to go. Old Heythorp said at last:
Thus expected to say something, Bob Pillin muttered
“Glad your meetin' went off well, sir. You scored a triumph I should think.”
“Oh! I don't know. I thought you had a good bit of opposition to contend with.”
“Your grandmother!” he said; then, with his habitual instinct of attack, added: “You make the most of your opportunities, I see.”
At this rude assault Bob Pillin's red-cheeked face assumed a certain dignity. “I don't know what you mean, sir. Mrs. Larne is very kind to me.”
“No doubt. But don't try to pick the flowers.”
Thoroughly upset, Bob Pillin preserved a dogged silence. This fortnight, since he had first met Phyllis in old Heythorp's hall, had been the most singular of his existence up to now. He would never have believed that a fellow could be so quickly and completely bowled, could succumb without a kick, without even wanting to kick. To one with his philosophy of having a good time and never committing himself too far, it was in the nature of “a fair knock-out,” and yet so pleasurable, except for the wear and tear about one's chances. If only he knew how far the old boy really counted in the matter! To say: “My intentions are strictly honourable” would be old-fashioned; besides--the old fellow might have no right to hear it. They called him Guardy, but without knowing more he did not want to admit the old curmudgeon's right to interfere.