"I know what that means," said Pinckney. "It's only once in a couple of years that there's any trouble with servants and then--oh, my! You see Aunt Maria is not the same as other people because she loves every one dearly, and looks on the servants as part of the family. I expect she loves that black imp Seth, for all his faults, and that's what makes her so upset."
"Same as I was about Rafferty," said Phyl with a little laugh.
Pinckney laughed also and their eyes met. Just like a veil swept aside, something indefinable that had lain between them, some awkwardness arising, maybe, from the Rafferty incident, vanished in that moment.
Phyl had been drawing steadily towards him lately, till, unknown to her, he had entered into the little romance of Juliet, so much so that if last night, at that magical moment when he met her on entering the gate--if at that moment he had taken her in his arms and kissed her, Love might have been born instantly from his embrace.
But the psychological moment had passed, a crisis unknown to him and almost unknown to her.
And now, as if to seal the triumph of the commonplace, suddenly, the vague reservation that had lain between them, disappeared.
"Do you know," said he, "you taught me a lesson that day, a lesson every man ought to be taught before he leaves college."
"Never to interfere in household affairs. Of course Rafferty wasn't exactly a household affair because he belonged mostly to the stable, still he was your affair more than mine. Household affairs belong to women, and men ought to leave them alone."
"Maybe you're right," said Phyl, "but all the same I was wrong. Do you know I've never apologised for what I said."
"What did you say?" asked he with an artless air of having forgotten.
"And I said--things, and I apologise--come on, let's go out. I have no business this morning and I'd like to show you the town--if you'd care to come."
"Oh, she's all right," he replied. "The Seth trouble will keep her busy till lunch time and I'll leave word we've gone out for a walk."
Phyl ran upstairs and put on her hat. As they were passing through the garden the thought came to her just for a moment to show him the little arbour; then something stopped her, a feeling that this humble little secret was not hers to give away, and a feeling that Pinckney wouldn't care. Dead lovers vanished so long and their affairs would have little interest for his practical mind.