Free Unknown by Unknown Page A

you fret about the sofa, Cousin Tilly. I've got a room for two nights at the Inn.”
    Persephone leaned over and whispered something in Philip's ear. It was impossible for John to hazard the least conjecture as to what she said; but a minute later Philip addressed him in a loud if not a very amiable tone.
    “I shall be offended, Cousin John, and I'm sure your Cousin Tilly will be terribly hurt if you don't let us pay for your room while you're here. How long a holiday have you allowed yourself? How soon are you returning to Paris?”
    “I ... I ... I haven't—on my soul I haven't thought about it yet,” muttered John Crow. “But thanks very much for the room at the Inn.” His voice suddenly became unnaturally loud. “Thanks very much, Cousin Philip. I shall be glad to stay two nights at the Inn at your expense. Shall I tell them to send the bill to you up here?”
    John's tone, when his voice subsided, left everybody a little uncomfortable.
    “Well,” Philip said, “well—yes. Yes, of course. Yes, I shall be here a few days more . . . perhaps. . , .” His voice sank down at that point in a polite but weary sigh. It was plain to them all that he felt no very strong attraction to the wanderer from across the channel His exact and precise thoughts, in fact, might be expressed thus: “This fellow never expected any legacy. He only came to see what he could get out of me. He's on his beam-ends. He's probably got consumption, diabetes and the pox. If I give him an inch hell take an ell. At alJ costs I mustn't let him come to Glastonbury.”
    Miss Elizabeth turned round towards Tilly Crow now, and in a gentle, unassuming voice asked what time dinner would be.
    “I do wish everybody would stop calling it dinner,” said Tilly, peevishly. “It'll be just a cold supper. There is so much over from lunch. I thought of it just for the family, you know, and I hoped Mr. Spear would not mind it being cold.” She glanced as she spoke, not at Dave, but at John. And it was John who lifted up his voice in answer. “Don't think of me, in your hospitality, Mrs. Crow, I be^. I shall be running up that bill—is it not so, Philip—that we spoke of at the Inn?”
    He rose to his feet as he said. this. But Philip rose too. “You misunderstood me, Mr. Crow,” he said sharply. “It was only a bedroom I was unable to offer you.” He paused for a second while a flicker of unconcealed distaste crossed his features. “But of course you are jesting. Anyway you're free to enjoy which you please ... a hot supper at the Inn or a cold supper with us here. Well!” he added in a different tone, “Pve got some writing to do; and I think I'll desert you all now and do it in the study.”
    There was a general movement to leave the table at this point and under the protection of the confusion John whispered to Mary, "Look here, I'm not coming up here again. That beggar hates me comme le diablel You come, tomorrow morning, after breakfast, and call for me at the Inn. Ha? I'll find out if we
    can't get a boat on the 'big river'------ Anyway, you tell Aunt Elizabeth that you're off for the day. How long are you going to stay here?"
    But, woman-like, Mary went straight to the main issue. “What time shall I call for you, John?”
    “Oh, about ten, if that's not too early? That'll give me time to find out about the boat”
    She gave him a peculiar look. It was a steady calm look. Above all it was a stripped look. It held his attention for a second; but he missed everything about it that was important. He missed its touching confidence, its bone-to-bone honesty. He missed its unquestioning, little-girl reliance upon him. He missed its weariness, he missed its singleness of heart.
    “You won't change your mind, John, and start off for Glas-tonbury at dawn?”
    It was his turn now to reveal, in an eyelid-flicker of self-abandonment, the animal-primitive basis of his nature. It had evidently crossed his mind, in his reaction from the pressure of the