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addressed her conversation almost exclusively to him, and
there was something flattering in the way she appealed con-
stantly to his sane judgment. She made him laugh too, and
Philip could never resist people who amused him: he had a
gift now and then of saying neat things; and it was pleasant
to have an appreciative listener. Neither the Vicar nor Mrs.
Carey had a sense of humour, and they never laughed at
anything he said. As he grew used to Miss Wilkinson, and
his shyness left him, he began to like her better; he found
the French accent picturesque; and at a garden party which
the doctor gave she was very much better dressed than any-
one else. She wore a blue foulard with large white spots, and
Philip was tickled at the sensation it caused.
‘I’m certain they think you’re no better than you should
be,’ he told her, laughing.
‘It’s the dream of my life to be taken for an abandoned
hussy,’ she answered.
One day when Miss Wilkinson was in her room he asked
Aunt Louisa how old she was.
‘Oh, my dear, you should never ask a lady’s age; but she’s
certainly too old for you to marry.’
The Vicar gave his slow, obese smile.
‘She’s no chicken, Louisa,’ he said. ‘She was nearly grown
up when we were in Lincolnshire, and that was twenty years
ago. She wore a pigtail hanging down her back.’
‘She may not have been more than ten,’ said Philip.
‘She was older than that,’ said Aunt Louisa.
‘I think she was near twenty,’ said the Vicar.
‘Oh no, William. Sixteen or seventeen at the outside.’

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