Later, when the Baron had departed, Philip flushed suddenly at the ugly
suspicion rising wraithlike in his mind. He was accustomed to the
Baron's subtleties.
"Mr. Poynter!" called Diane.
Mr. Poynter perversely went on whittling out the hollow of his wildwood
pipe.
"Mr. Poynter!"
The bowl, already sufficient for a Titan's smoke, grew a trifle larger
and somewhat irregular. Carving had conceivably injured Mr. Poynter's
hearing, for he kept on whistling.
"Philip!" said Diane and stamped her foot.
"Yes?" replied Philip respectfully, and instantly discarded the Titan's
pipe to listen.
"Why are you so quiet?" flashed Diane.
"Well, for one thing," explained Philip cheerfully, "I'm mighty busy
and for another, I'm thinking."
"Do you withdraw into a sound-proof shell when you think?"
"Mr. Poynter does!" regretted Philip. "_I_ do not."
"I do hope," said the girl demurely, "that you'll be able to hear when
the doctor gets here. He's coming through the trees."
CHAPTER XIV
BY THE BACKWATER POOL
The sun had set with a primrose glory of reflection upon the river and
the ridge. Over there in the west now there was a pale after-glow of
marigold. It streamed across the dark, still waters of the backwater
pool by the river and faintly edged the drowsy petals of white and
yellow lilies.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97