That /au revoir/ had reference to the circumstance that they were to be fellow-guests at Mrs. Linton's house at Hurley-on-Thames, known as The Mooring. Phyllis had told him that she was about to pay that visit, and when he said:

"Why, I am going as well," she had raised her eyes to his face, an unmistakable look of pleasure on her own, as she cried:

"I am so glad! When do you go?"

"I go on Tuesday--two days sooner."

The tone in which she spoke made him feel that she had said:

"What on earth shall I do during those dreary two days?" or else he had become singularly conceited.

But even if she had actually said those words they would not have made him feel unduly vain. He reflected upon the fact which he had more than once previously noticed--namely, that the girl, though wise as became a daughter of a Member of Parliament to be (considering that she had to prevent, or do her best to prevent, her father from making a fool of himself), was in many respects as innocent and as natural as a girl should be. She had only spoken naturally when she had said that she was glad he was to be of the riverside party--when she had implied by her tone that she was sorry that two whole days were bound to pass before he should arrive.

What was there in all that she had said, to make such a man as he vain --in all that she had implied? If she had been six years old instead of twenty-three, she would probably have told him that she loved him. The innocence of the child would have made her outspoken; but would his vanity have been fostered by the confession? It was the charming naturalness of the girl that had caused her to speak out what it was but natural she should feel. She and he had liked each other from the first, and it was quite natural that she should be glad to see him at Hurley.