Sylvia did not want his penitence, did not care for her ribbon, was troubled by his earnestness of manner--but he knew nothing of all that; he only knew that she whom he loved had asked him to do something for her, and he had neglected it; so, anxious to be excused and forgiven, he went on with the apology she cared not to hear.
If she had been less occupied with her own affairs, less engrossed with deep feeling, she would have reproached him, if only in jest, for his carelessness.

As it was, she scarcely took in the sense of his words.
'You see, Sylvie, I've had a deal to think on; before long I intend telling yo' all about it; just now I'm not free to do it.

And when a man's mind is full o' business, most particular when it's other folk's as is trusted to him, he seems to lose count on the very things he'd most care for at another time.' He paused a little.
Sylvia's galloping thoughts were pulled suddenly up by his silence; she felt that he wanted her to say something, but she could think of nothing besides an ambiguous-- 'Well ?' 'And I'm off to London i' t' morning,' added he, a little wistfully, almost as if beseeching her to show or express some sorrow at a journey, the very destination of which showed that he would be absent for some time.
'To Lunnon!' said she, with some surprise.

'Yo're niver thinking o' going to live theere, for sure!' Surprise, and curiosity, and wonder; nothing more, as Philip's instinct told him.

But he reasoned that first correct impression away with ingenious sophistry.
'Not to live there: only to stay for some time.