62 COUSIN PHILLIS.
into the company of strangers. She brought out the last week's county paper (which Mr. Holdsworth had read five days ago), and then quietly withdrew; and then he subsided into languor, leaning back and shutting his eyes as if he would go to sleep. I stole into the kitchen after Phillis; but she had made the round of the corner of the house outside, and I found her sitting on the horse-mount, with her basket of peas, and a basin into which she was shelling them. Rover lay at her feet, snapping now and then at the flies. I went to her, and tried to help her; but somehow the sweet crisp young peas found their way more frequently into my mouth than into the basket, while we talked together in a low tone, fearful of being overheard through the open casements of the house-place in which Holdsworth was resting.
"Don't you think him handsome?" asked I.
"Perhaps — yes — I have hardly looked at him," she replied. "But is not he very like a foreigner?"
"Yes, he cuts his hair foreign fashion," said I.
"I like an Englishman to look like an Englishman."
"I don't think he thinks about it. He says he began that way when he was in Italy, because everybody wore it so, and it is natural to keep it on in England."
"Not if he began it in Italy because everybody there wore it so. Everybody here wears it differently."
I was a little offended with Phillis's logical fault-finding with my friend; and I determined to change the subject.
"When is your mother coming home?"
"I should think she might come any time now; but she had to go and see Mrs. Morton, who was ill, and
