They contained for Philip a
mystery and a promise that he was never tired of studying. Every evening
he would ride over from Dansworth station to the cottage, put up his
horse, and spend the long summer twilights in carrying his son about the
garden or the park, or watching Miss Denison at her work. The boy was
physically very frail, and soon tired. But his look was now placid; the
furrows in the white brow were smoothed away; his general nutrition was
much better; his delicate cheeks had filled out a little; and his ghostly
beauty fascinated Philip's artistic sense, while his helplessness
appealed to the tenderest instinct of a strong man. Buntingford had
discovered a new and potent reason for living; and for living happily.
And meanwhile with all this slowly growing joy, Cynthia was more and more
closely connected. She and Buntingford had a common topic, which was
endlessly interesting and delightful to them both. Philip was no longer
conscious of her conventionalities and limitations, as he had been
conscious of them on his first renewed acquaintance with her after the
preoccupations of the war.
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