NEXT day after dinner they took their rugs and cushions to the fountain, and their books; but they did not read. Miss Wilkinson made herself comfortable and she opened the red sun-shade. Philip was not at all shy now, but at first she would not let him kiss her.
"It was very wrong of me last night," she said. "I couldn't sleep, I felt I'd done so wrong."
"What nonsense!" he cried. "I'm sure you slept like a top."
"What do you think your uncle would say if he knew?"
"There's no reason why he should know."
He leaned over her, and his heart went pit-a-pat.
"Why d'you want to kiss me?"
He knew he ought to reply: "Because I love you." But he could not bring himself to say it.
"Why do you think?" he asked instead.
She looked at him with smiling eyes and touched his face with the tips of her fingers.
"How smooth your face is," she murmured.
"I want shaving awfully," he said.
It was astonishing how difficult he found it to make romantic speeches. He found that silence helped him much more than words. He could look inexpressible things. Miss Wilkinson sighed.
"Do you like me at all?"
When he tried to kiss her again she did not resist. He pretended to be much more passionate than he really was, and he succeeded in playing a part which looked very well in his own eyes.
"I'm beginning to be rather frightened of you," said Miss Wilkinson.
"You'll come out after supper, won't you?" he begged.
"Not unless you promise to behave yourself."
"I'll promise anything."
He was catching fire from the flame he was partly simulating, and at tea-time he was obstreperously merry. Miss Wilkinson looked at him nervously.
"You mustn't have those shining eyes," she said to him afterwards. "What will your Aunt Louisa think?"
"I don't care what she thinks."
Miss Wilkinson gave a little laugh of pleasure. They had no sooner finished supper than he said to her:
"Are you going to keep me company while I smoke a cigarette?"
"Why don't you let Miss Wilkinson rest?" said Mrs. Carey. "You must remember she's not as young as you."
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