Page 242 - of-human-bondage-

Philip thought it was very like a French novel, and he did
not know why it slightly irritated him.
At last he said:
‘Well, I think I’ll tootle along to the beach and have a
dip.’
‘Oh, you’re not going to leave me this morning—of all
mornings?’ Philip did not quite know why he should not,
but it did not matter.
‘Would you like me to stay?’ he smiled.
‘Oh, you darling! But no, go. Go. I want to think of you
mastering the salt sea waves, bathing your limbs in the
broad ocean.’
He got his hat and sauntered off.
‘What rot women talk!’ he thought to himself.
But he was pleased and happy and flattered. She was evi-
dently frightfully gone on him. As he limped along the high
street of Blackstable he looked with a tinge of supercilious-
ness at the people he passed. He knew a good many to nod
to, and as he gave them a smile of recognition he thought to
himself, if they only knew! He did want someone to know
very badly. He thought he would write to Hayward, and in
his mind composed the letter. He would talk of the garden
and the roses, and the little French governess, like an ex-
otic flower amongst them, scented and perverse: he would
say she was French, because—well, she had lived in France
so long that she almost was, and besides it would be shabby
to give the whole thing away too exactly, don’t you know;
and he would tell Hayward how he had seen her first in her
pretty muslin dress and of the flower she had given him.

1