Part 23 (1/2)
Philip felt shame of his subterfuge, but yet more ashamed of the truth; so he leaned against the door and watched in silence. The smell of hay floated down from the loft, and the odour of the cow's breath came in gusts as she turned her face about. Kate sat on the milking-stool close by the ewer, and her head, on which she wore a sun-bonnet, she leaned against the cow's side.
”No news of Pete, then? No?” she said.
”No,” said Philip.
Kate dug her head deeper in the cow, and muttered, ”Dear Pete! So simple, so natural.”
”He is,” said Philip.
”So good-hearted, too.”
”Yes.”
”And such a manly fellow--any girl might like him,” said Kate.
”Indeed, yes,” said Philip.
There was silence again, and two pigs which had been snoring on the manure heap outside began to snort their way home. Kate turned her head so that the crown of the sun-bonnet was toward Phillip, and said--
”Oh, dear! Can there be anything so terrible as marrying somebody you don't care for?”
”Nothing so bad,” said Philip.
The mouth of the sun-bonnet came round. ”Yes, there's one thing worse, Philip.”
”No?”
”Not having married somebody you do,” said Kate, and the milk rattled like hail.
In the straw behind. Kate there was a tailless Manx cat with three tailed kittens, and Philip began to play with them. Being back to back with Kate, he could keep his countenance.
”This old Horney is terrible for switching,” said Kate, over her shoulder. ”Don't you think you could hold her tail?”
That brought them face to face again. ”It's so sweet to have some one to talk to about Pete,” said Kate.
”Yes?”
”I don't know how I could bear his long absence but for that.”
”Are you longing so much, Kate?”
”Oh, no, not longing--not to say longing. Only you can't think what it is to be... have you never been yourself, Philip?”
”What?” ”Hold it tight... in love? No?”
”Well,” said Philip, speaking at the crown of the sun-bonnet. ”Ha! ha!
well, not properly perhaps--I don't--I can hardly say, Kate.”
”There! You've let it go, after all, and she's covered me with the milk!