' His bright open smile, the rough,
yet gentleman-like courtesy of his advance to the Marchioness, his
comical roguish glance at Emily, to see if she was very angry, and to
defy her if she were, and his speedy exit, all greatly amused Lady
Florence, and made up for what there might have been of the wild
schoolboy in his entrance.
Poor Phyllis had neither the excuse of being a schoolboy nor the
good-humoured fearlessness that freed her brother from embarrassment,
and she stood stock-still, awkward and dismayed, not daring to
advance; longing to join in the pig-chase, yet afraid to run away,
her eyes stretched wide open, her hair streaming into them, her
bonnet awry, her tippet powdered with seeds of hay, her gloves torn
and soiled, the colour of her brown holland apron scarcely
discernible through its various stains, her frock tucked up, her
stockings covered with mud, and without shoes, which she had taken
off at the door.
'Phyllis,' said Emily, 'what are you thinking of? What makes you
such a figure? Come and speak to Aunt Rotherwood.'
Phyllis drew off her left-hand glove, and held out her hand, making a
few sidelong steps towards her aunt, who gave her a rather reluctant
kiss.
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