If he had been a Frenchman he would have seized her in his arms and told her passionately that he adored her; he would have pressed his lips on her nuque.  He did not know why Frenchmen always kissed ladies on the nuque.  He did not himself see anything so very attractive in the nape of the neck.  Of course it was much easier for Frenchmen to do these things; the language was such an aid; Philip could never help feeling that to say passionate things in English sounded a little absurd.  He wished now that he had never undertaken the siege of Miss Wilkinson’s virtue; the first fortnight had been so jolly, and now he was wretched; but he was determined not to give in, he would never respect himself again if he did, and he made up his mind irrevocably that the next night he would kiss her without fail.

Next day when he got up he saw it was raining, and his first thought was that they would not be able to go into the garden that evening.  He was in high spirits at breakfast.  Miss Wilkinson sent Mary Ann in to say that she had a headache and would remain in bed.  She did not come down till tea-time, when she appeared in a becoming wrapper and a pale face; but she was quite recovered by supper, and the meal was very cheerful.  After prayers she said she would go straight to bed, and she kissed Mrs. Carey.  Then she turned to Philip.

“Good gracious!” she cried.  “I was just going to kiss you too.”

“Why don’t you?” he said.

She laughed and held out her hand.  She distinctly pressed his.

The following day there was not a cloud in the sky, and the garden was sweet and fresh after the rain.  Philip went down to the beach to bathe and when he came home ate a magnificent dinner.  They were having a tennis party at the vicarage in the afternoon and Miss Wilkinson put on her best dress.  She certainly knew how to wear her clothes, and Philip could not help noticing how elegant she looked beside the curate’s wife and the doctor’s married daughter.  There were two roses in her waistband.  She sat in a garden chair by the side of the lawn, holding a red parasol over herself, and the light on her face was very becoming.  Philip was fond of tennis.  He served well and as he ran clumsily played close to the net:  notwithstanding his club-foot he was quick, and it was difficult to get a ball past him.  He was pleased because he won all his sets.  At tea he lay down at Miss Wilkinson’s feet, hot and panting.

“Flannels suit you,” she said.  “You look very nice this afternoon.”

He blushed with delight.

“I can honestly return the compliment.  You look perfectly ravishing.”

She smiled and gave him a long look with her black eyes.

After supper he insisted that she should come out.

“Haven’t you had enough exercise for one day?”

“It’ll be lovely in the garden tonight.  The stars are all out.”

He was in high spirits.