Carrie and her father found it a little difficult to explain her sudden
flight to Lady Mallow; but they patched up some sort of story that held
together after a fashion, and before very long her Ladyship had
forgotten all about Carrie’s escapade, as she considered it.
Carrie meantime had returned to London with her father, and the time
passed slowly enough at first. But Carrie had not the nature that broods
over the inevitable, and she quieted her heart better than most girls of
her age would have done in the same trying circumstances. There were all
the cheerful businesses of home to attend to—Carrie was a notable
housekeeper,—and these, after the forced idleness and gentility of her
stay at Lady Mallow’s, seemed doubly delightful. It was much more
agreeable to eat the pasties and cakes of one’s own making, she thought,
than those prepared by the most practised cook, and, moreover, there was
a new and inspiring thought at work in Carrie’s brain. Some day she
would be cooking all these good things for Philip! She did not stop to
consider that Phil, like Lady Mallow, had servants to cook for him, so
every day she would be trying new dishes, till Sebastian complained that
the _cuisine_ was too rich for his simple tastes, and Carrie blushed,
and murmured something about her book of recipes. The afternoons, when
her father was busy and her housekeeping labours were over for the day,
were the longest time to get through. Carrie would take her needlework
then and sit by the window, but she found plenty time for thought while
she sewed, and her thoughts seemed always to travel in the direction of
Wynford. Had Phil gone back to Oxford yet? she wondered; or was it
possible he was come to town? When could she see him again? What was he
doing? All the ingeniously ridiculous questions and suppositions of
lovers passed through her head in these long afternoons of sewing. In
the evenings Sebastian would take her out to walk or to the play, and
Carrie could not be insensible of the admiration she excited in public
places. Then summer wore away and winter was come. Carrie indulged in
some new and very becoming winter garments, and was more fidgety than
was her wont over the fit and the style of them. When these were ready
she persuaded her father one fine Saturday afternoon to take her for an
airing in the Mall. Sebastian hesitated a little, and professed himself
too busy, but at last consented, and Carrie—exquisitely bewitching in
her furry hood—walked at a slow pace down the Mall by his side, the
admired of all admirers. Now there exists between some people a
mysterious sympathy—telepathy, we call it in the nineteenth century, in
the eighteenth it was not named—which premonishes them of meeting, just
as the quicksilver in an aneroid will foretell the weather of the coming
day. When Carrie dressed herself in all her bravery, and prayed her
father for his escort, she was convinced deep down in her heart that she
would meet Phil that day. She had no reason whatever to suppose that he
was in town; she had walked out every day since they parted and never
met him, but to-day she felt certain she would do so. It came to her
therefore as no surprise to hear her father say—
‘Carrie, there comes Philip Meadowes.’ She did not need to be admonished
of the fact.
‘May I speak with him, sir?’
‘No.’
They had passed almost before the question and answer were spoken.
Carrie did not even bow to him in the passing, but she smiled a
brilliant flashing smile and blushed like a rose.
‘Phil looks older, does he not, sir?’ she asked, as they walked
along—only her quick-drawn breath and the excited little pinch she gave
to her father’s arm betrayed her excitement.
Sebastian did not reply.
It was the next Sunday that Carrie made a delightful discovery: Phil had
begun to come to church at St. Mary Minories! Carrie was just stifling a
yawn behind her hand, when, across the little church, she caught sight
of Phil. He sat just opposite her—why, why was the service so very
short? Carrie, who was as regular a slumberer as she was an attendant
upon Church services, now sat forward in the great square pew, wide
awake, and any observant person must have noted how her eyes wandered
across the church, and met those of the young man who occupied the
opposite pew. Then she would flicker her eyelids and look down and blush
an enchanting blush under the shade of the great feathered hat she wore,
and then the same thing would be gone through over again. Phil, on his
part, leant forward, staring unabashedly at Carrie. He was delighted to
observe that her sole guardian during church hours was Lady Mallow, and
Lady Mallow, like her niece, slept whenever it was possible to do so.
After they had mutually made these pleasant discoveries I suppose it
would have been difficult to find two happier young people than they
were that morning. Every circumstance seemed to be fortunate for them,
for Phil saw to his delight that Lady Mallow, whose pew was near the
door, seemed to be in the habit of letting all the congregation disperse
before she left it. This quite suited Phil. He walked slowly down the
aisle and passed so near Carrie that his sleeve brushed hers for a
moment—for Carrie had risen, and now fumbled at the door of the pew in
the most opportune manner.
Carrie said nothing about this to her father; she thought the meeting
had been accidental; but when another, and yet another, and yet another
Sunday passed, and on each day she saw Phil, Carrie, out of the depth of
her honest heart, found it necessary to tell Sebastian about it. She
came and stood behind his chair, let her pretty white hands fall one
over each shoulder, and laid her cheek against his.
‘Dear sir,’ she said, ‘I think I should tell you something—I think ’tis
scarce honest in me to be silent about it.’
‘Eh?’ queried Sebastian, as he turned to kiss one of Carrie’s hands.
‘I must tell you, sir, that I see Philip Meadowes each Lord’s day at
church in St. Mary Minories. I have never spoken with him, but I fear we
look at each other most part of the morning.’
‘Well,’ said Sebastian, ‘what of it?’
‘May I continue to go to church, sir? I feared you might forbid me,’
said Carrie, her heart bounding with hope.
‘The deuce take your honesty, Carrie. Do you think I can forbid you
now?’
Carrie laughed with delight—words after all were not everything. If
once each week she could sit and gaze at Philip, a year and a half would
surely pass quickly enough!