t Lilia! Be calm. I have never loved
any one but you."

She, knowing everything, would only smile gently, too broken by
suffering to make sarcastic repartees.

Before the child was born he gave her a kiss, and said, "I have prayed
all night for a boy."

Some strangely tender impulse moved her, and she said faintly, "You are
a boy yourself, Gino."

He answered, "Then we shall be brothers."

He lay outside the room with his head against the door like a dog. When
they came to tell him the glad news they found him half unconscious, and
his face was wet with tears.

As for Lilia, some one said to her, "It is a beautiful boy!" But she had
died in giving birth to him.

Chapter 5

At the time of Lilia's death Philip Herriton was just twenty-four years
of age--indeed the news reached Sawston on his birthday. He was a tall,
weakly-built young man, whose clothes had to be judiciously padded
on the shoulders in order to make him pass muster. His face was plain
rather than not, and there was a curious mixture in it of good and bad.
He had a fine forehead and a good large nose, and both observation
and sympathy were in his eyes. But below the nose and eyes all was
confusion, and those people who believe that destiny resides in the
mouth and chin shook their heads when they looked at him.

Philip himself, as a boy, had been keenly conscious of these defects.
Sometimes when he had been bullied or hustled about at school he would
retire to his cubicle and examine his features in a looking-glass, and
he would sigh and say, "It is a weak face. I shall never carve a place
for myself in the world." But as years went on he became either less
self-conscious or more self-satisfied. The world, he found, made a
niche for him as it did for every one. Decision of character might come
later--or he might have it without knowing. At all events he had got
a sense of beauty and a sense of humour, two most desirable gifts. The
sense of beauty developed first. It caused him at the age of twenty to
wear parti-coloured ties and a squashy hat, to be late for dinner on
account of the sunset, and to catch art from Burne-Jones to Praxiteles.
At twenty-two he went to Italy with some cousins, and there he absorbed
into one aesthetic whole olive-trees, blue sky, frescoes, country inns,
saints, peasants, mosaics, statues, beggars. He came back with the air
of a prophet who would either remodel Sawston or reject it. All the
energies and enthusiasms