Philippa smiled, a little sadly. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m not very robust, that’s all,” she returned, patiently. “Is this Diana--the baby Diana I used to hear about when we were schoolgirls?” Diana, who had entered the hall with Mayne, shook hands with the brusqueness which characterizes the young girl when she is at the same time shy and aggressive. “Affected fool,” was her brief mental verdict, as she glared at Philippa’s artless, unfashionable hat and brown sandals. “Mr. Mayne--Miss Burton,” murmured Cecily. “We have met before--at Lady Wilmot’s, haven’t we?” smiled Philippa, as they shook hands. The door opened at the moment to admit Robert. “Ah, I thought I heard voices!” he exclaimed, genially. “How do you do, Miss Burton?” Diana giggled as she retired with Mayne to the window-seat. “Robert’s up and down like a dog in a fair,” she whispered, irreverently. “He’ll get on splendidly with the History-Book. What an idiot she looks in that Twopenny Tube dress, doesn’t she? ... and then you and I and Cis can play about and amuse ourselves, and have a lovely time. What are you staring at, Dick? Don’t. She’ll think you’re admiring her; and she’s just as conceited as a peacock already.” CHAPTER IX “What a sweet garden you have!” exclaimed Philippa, putting down her coffee-cup. They had returned to the yew enclosure after lunch. She had thrown aside her hat with one of the free sweeping movements which Lady Wilmot characterized as Whitmanesque, and the breeze stirred the ripples of her thick, dark hair. “This is only a tiny piece of it. Would you like to see the rest?” asked Cecily. “I could take you round before I go to see my dog. He’s ill, and I must make sure that they’re looking after him properly in the village. Will you come with me, or would you rather stay here and rest?” “May I stay here?” begged Philippa. “You see I’m silly enough not to be very strong, and the walk here has tired me a little.” “Certainly,” returned Cecily, rising, “if you don’t mind being left for half an hour, perhaps. He’s in one of the cottages in the village, near the vet, and I’m afraid it will take me all that time to get there and back. Robert will look after you. Will you come, Dick?” she added, turning to Mayne. “I’d like you to see how he is.” He had already risen. “Of course. I meant to go,” he returned. “Diana is cycling over to Silverleafe for me, if you want any letters taken to the post, Robert,” she turned to say, as she passed through the archway in the yew hedge.