Her eyes grew round; she said in an awed voice: "Oh!"
In a sort of agony of honesty he said:
"It was only a cheque. Now you've got your way."
Staring at the fire she answered slowly:
"I expect you'd better go before mother comes.
Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said hardily:
"My hair isn't a bit dry," and she sat down on the fender with her back to the fire.
A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face. If only he could get that wheeze off: "Phyllis is my only joy!" or even: "Phyllis--do you--won't you--mayn't I?" But nothing came--nothing.