quite that," she begged breathlessly. "Be content to know
that I have counted the cost, and that I am willing to come."

He felt the chill of impending disaster. He closed the little gate
through which they had been about to pass, and stood with his back to
it. In that faint light which seemed to creep over the world before the
moon itself was revealed, she seemed to him at that moment the fairest,
the most desirable thing on earth. Her face was upturned towards his,
half pathetic, half protesting against the revelation which he was
forcing from her.

"Listen, Philippa," he said, "Miss Fairclough warned me of one thing. I
put it on one side. It did not seem to be possible. Now I must ask you a
question. You have some other motive, have you not, for choosing to come
away with me? It is not only because you love me better than any one
else in the world, as I do you, and therefore that we belong to one
another and it is right and good that we should spend our lives in one
another's company? There is something else, is there not, at the root of
your determination? Some ally?"

It was a strange moment for Philippa. Nothing had altered within her,
and yet a wonderful pity was glowing in her heart, tearing at her
emotions, bringing a sob into her throat.

"You mean--Henry?" she faltered.

"I mean your husband," he assented.

She was suddenly passionately angry with herself. It seemed to her that
the days of childishness were back. She was behaving like an imbecile
whilst he played the great game.

"You see," he went on, his own voice a little unsteady, "this is one
of those moments in both our lives when anything except the exact truth
would mean shipwreck. You still love your husband?"

"I am such a fool!" she sobbed, clutching at his arm.

"You were willing to go away with me," he continued mercilessly, "partly
because of the anger you felt towards him, and partly out of revenge,
and just a little because you liked me. Is that not so?"

Her head pressed upon his arm. She nodded. It was just that convulsive
movement of her head, with its wealth of wonderful hair and its plain
black motoring hat, which dealt the death-blow to his hopes. She was
just a child once more--and she trusted him.

"Very well, then," he said, "just let me think--for a moment."

She understood enough not to raise her head. Lessingham was gazing out
through the chaotic shadows of the distant banks of clouds from which
the moon was rising.