It never grew longer, and was prompted by the feeling that her face was like an April day. The cloud which came on it now was like an April cloud, as if a bright shower of rain must follow. Brushing aside the two distressful lines, he said:

"Look here, Miss Larne--Phyllis--look here!"

"What does it mean--how did he come? What did he say?"

She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile, verbena, hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered:

"I wish you wouldn't--I wish mother wouldn't--I hate it. Oh! Money! Beastly--beastly!" and a tearful sigh shivered itself into Bob Pillin's reddening ears.

"I say--don't! And do tell me, because--"

"I don't--I don't know anything at all. I never---"

Phyllis looked up at him. "Don't tell fibs; you know mother's borrowing money from you, and it's hateful!"