“Well, I'm d---d!” and to miss the look which Phyllis gave him through her lashes--a look saying:
“I am d---d! Look here! D'you mean to say that Ventnor came here about my lending money? I never said a word to him---”
“Not by the roots! Oh! you do look funny. I've never seen you with your hair untidy. Oh! oh!”
Bob Pillin rose and paced the room. In the midst of his emotion he could not help seeing himself sidelong in the mirror; and on pretext of holding his head in both his hands, tried earnestly to restore his hair. Then coming to a halt he said:
“Suppose I am lending money to your mother, what does it matter? It's only till quarter-day. Anybody might want money.”
“Because--because--why shouldn't I?” and diving suddenly, he seized her hands.
She wrenched them free; and with the emotion of despair, Bob Pillin took out the envelope.
“If you like,” he said, “I'll tear this up. I don't want to lend it, if you don't want me to; but I thought--I thought--” It was for her alone he had been going to lend this money!
“Yes! You thought that I--that's what's so hateful!”
“Yes, you did; you thought I wanted you to lend it.”
She jumped up, and brushed past him into the window.
So she thought she was being used as a decoy! That was awful--especially since it was true. He knew well enough that Mrs. Larne was working his admiration for her daughter for all that it was worth. And he said with simple fervour:
“What rot!” It produced no effect, and at his wits' end, he almost shouted: “Look, Phyllis! If you don't want me to--here goes!” Phyllis turned. Tearing the envelope across he threw the bits into the fire. “There it is,” he said.
Her eyes grew round; she said in an awed voice: “Oh!”
“It was only a cheque. Now you've got your way.”
“I expect you'd better go before mother comes.”
Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said hardily:
“My hair isn't a bit dry,” and she sat down on the fender with her back to the fire.
A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face. If only he could get that wheeze off: “Phyllis is my only joy!” or even: “Phyllis--do you--won't you--mayn't I?” But nothing came--nothing.