“I wish you wouldn’t treat me as if I were a child.”

“Are you cross?”

“Very.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

She put out her hand and he took it.  Once or twice lately when they shook hands at night he had fancied she slightly pressed his hand, but this time there was no doubt about it.

He did not quite know what he ought to say next.  Here at last was his chance of an adventure, and he would be a fool not to take it; but it was a little ordinary, and he had expected more glamour.  He had read many descriptions of love, and he felt in himself none of that uprush of emotion which novelists described; he was not carried off his feet in wave upon wave of passion; nor was Miss Wilkinson the ideal:  he had often pictured to himself the great violet eyes and the alabaster skin of some lovely girl, and he had thought of himself burying his face in the rippling masses of her auburn hair.  He could not imagine himself burying his face in Miss Wilkinson’s hair, it always struck him as a little sticky.  All the same it would be very satisfactory to have an intrigue, and he thrilled with the legitimate pride he would enjoy in his conquest.  He owed it to himself to seduce her.  He made up his mind to kiss Miss Wilkinson; not then, but in the evening; it would be easier in the dark, and after he had kissed her the rest would follow.  He would kiss her that very evening.  He swore an oath to that effect.

He laid his plans.  After supper he suggested that they should take a stroll in the garden.  Miss Wilkinson accepted, and they sauntered side by side.  Philip was very nervous.  He did not know why, but the conversation would not lead in the right direction; he had decided that the first thing to do was to put his arm round her waist; but he could not suddenly put his arm round her waist when she was talking of the regatta which was to be held next week.  He led her artfully into the darkest parts of the garden, but having arrived there his courage failed him.  They sat on a bench, and he had really made up his mind that here was his opportunity when Miss Wilkinson said she was sure there were earwigs and insisted on moving.  They walked round the garden once more, and Philip promised himself he would take the plunge before they arrived at that bench again; but as they passed the house, they saw Mrs. Carey standing at the door.

“Hadn’t you young people better come in?  I’m sure the night air isn’t good for you.”

“Perhaps we had better go in,” said Philip.  “I don’t want you to catch cold.”

He said it with a sigh of relief.  He could attempt nothing more that night.  But afterwards, when he was alone in his room, he was furious with himself.  He had been a perfect fool.  He was certain that Miss Wilkinson expected him to kiss her, otherwise she wouldn’t have come into the garden.  She was always saying that only Frenchmen knew how to treat women.  Philip had read French novels.