tstretched hands.

"Geoffrey, I am Philip Ayre!"

"You are Philip Ayre? What on earth do you mean?"

"Oh, Geoffrey, don't you understand? Philippa--Philip Ayre!"

There was a moment's pause--a pause which, probably, neither of them
ever would forget.

"You--you are Philip Ayre! How dull I must have been not to have seen
the pretty play upon your name before. Philippa--Philip Ayre. Of course!
So you have been my rival. My wife--the mother of my children--the woman
I loved better than all the world."

"Geoffrey, don't say that I have been your rival!"

"No? Not my rival? What then?"

"I did it all for you!"

"For me? I see. I am beginning, for the first time, to understand the
meaning of words. You did it for me? This is not a foreign language
which you are speaking--I suppose it is English?"

"Geoffrey, will you listen to me for a moment?"

"Certainly; and I shall understand that I am listening to you, to your
own self, for the first time. It is someone else I have listened to
before. Proceed, Mr. Philip Ayre."

She seemed to find some difficulty in proceeding. Very soon she was to
give another child unto the world. Perhaps it was that which made her
seem so weak. She never had been very pretty. She had not grown prettier
with the passage of the years. Now, as she stood trembling so that she
had to clutch at the table to keep her stand, she seemed an
insignificant, pale-faced, ill-shaped woman--not a thing of beauty to
the eye. She seemed, also, to be in mortal terror.

"Geoffrey, I would have told you all along, only I was afraid."

"Afraid to tell me that you had set up as a rival in the business? I
see. Go on."

"I wouldn't have done it at all if we hadn't been so short of money."

"Which was because you had a blundering fool for a husband. That is
clear. Well?"

"The children wanted things, and--and there were the bills, and--and the
rent."

"Which you paid. Now I understand Mr. Briggs' civility, the tradesmen's
reticence. I have been living on my wife. What a blind worm a man who
has the use of his eyes can be!"

"I--I never meant to be your rival--never, Geoffrey, never."

"Mr. Philip Ayre----"

"Don't call me Mr. Philip Ayre!"

"Why not? Aren't you Mr. Philip Ayre?"

"Oh, Geoffrey! Geoffrey!"

She knelt down before him, so that her hands fell on his knees as he was
seated on his chair. He moved her hands and rose.

"Let us understand each other, quietly. Philippa, I told you, befor