Philip, whose temper was returning, laughed.
"Harriet would say he has no sense of sin."
"Harriet may be right, I am afraid."
"If so, perhaps he isn't sinful!"
Miss Abbott was not one to encourage levity. "I know
what he has done," she said. "What he says and what he
thinks is of very little importance."
Philip smiled at her crudity. "I should like to hear,
though, what he said about me. Is he preparing a warm reception?"
"Oh, no, not that. I never told him that you and
Harriet were coming. You could have taken him by surprise
if you liked. He only asked for you, and wished he hadn't
been so rude to you eighteen months ago."
"What a memory the fellow has for little things!" He
turned away as he spoke, for he did not want her to see his
face. It was suffused with pleasure. For an apology, which
would have been intolerable eighteen months ago, was
gracious and agreeable now.
She would not let this pass. "You did not think it a
little thing at the time. You told me he had assaulted you."
"I lost my temper," said Philip lightly. His vanity had
been appeased, and he knew it. This tiny piece of civility
had changed his mood. "Did he really--what exactly did he
say?"
"He said he was sorry--pleasantly, as Italians do say
such things. But he never mentioned the baby once."
What did the baby matter when the world was suddenly
right way up? Philip smiled, and was shocked at himself for
smiling, and smiled again.
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