I was talking about
real things. The mother, however, from her point of view, was
talking of real things also. But how did she come to know about
her son's amours? I thought it useless to enquire. Randall must
have advertised his passion pretty widely. I replied:
"It's extremely improbable. In the first place Phyllis Gedge isn't
dreadful, but a remarkably sweet and modest young woman, and in
the second place she won't have anything to do with him."
"That's nonsense," she said, bridling.
"Why?"
"Because--"
A gesture and a smile completed the sentence. That a common young
person should decline to have dealings with her paragon was
incredible.
"I can find out in a minute," I smiled, "whether she is still in
Wellingsford."
I wheeled myself to the telephone on my writing-table and rang up
Betty at the hospital.
"Do you know where Phyllis Gedge is?"
Betty's voice came. "Yes. She's here. I've just left her to come
to speak to you. Why do you want to know?"
"Never mind so long as she is safe and sound. There's no
likelihood of her running away or eloping?"
Betty's laughter rang over the wires. "What lunacy are you
talking? You might as well ask me whether I'm going to elope with
you.
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