Well, whatever happened now, the responsibility had slipped from Philip's shoulders. And in the midst of all the present turmoil of his senses one emotion overtopped all the others--a feeling of intense curiosity to behold the arch-expert in misogyny handling the situation. It would be a sensational scene, Philip thought. And he was not disappointed. "Hallo, there, Philip!" Uncle Joseph's voice rang out from the hall. "Are you in?" The library door stood ajar, and his words could be heard distinctly. "Yes, Uncle Joseph!" called Philip. "That is my uncle," he explained, turning politely to the Beautiful Lady. "He--" But the words died on his lips. Lady Broadhurst was on her feet, deadly white, and shaking. One hand was at her heart, the other fumbled at the mantelpiece for support. Uncle Joseph's voice rang out again, this time from the neighbourhood of the hatstand. "I'm back sooner than I expected. Skip about and get me some tea, you young beggar!" The Beautiful Lady's white lips parted, and she uttered a faint cry. But she did not move. Philip went out into the hall. His uncle was hanging up his greatcoat. "Well, young man?" he observed cheerfully. "There is some one wanting to see you in the library, Uncle Joseph," said Philip falteringly. "Oh! Who?" "A--a lady." Uncle Joseph's brow darkened instantly. "_A lady?_" he said icily. "Who let her in?" "I did. At least, she came in." "Well, we can appraise responsibility later. Meanwhile--" Uncle Joseph, very stiff and erect, strode across the hall and into the library. * * * * * There was a moment of dead silence, and then a great cry; then a rush of feet; then silence again--silence that could be felt. What had happened? Philip wondered. Then, at last, came voices. "Vivien! Vivien! Vivien! My little Vivien, after all these years! Thank God for his infinite goodness and mercy! My Vivien! My little girl!" "Joe! Joe! Dear, dear Joe! At last, at last! Hold me closer, dear! I can't believe it yet! I'm frightened--hold me closer! Oh, my dear, my dear!" Then the voices blended into an indeterminate, cooing, soothing murmur. Philip looked into the library. Upon the hearthrug, with his back to the door, stood Uncle Joseph, misogynist. In his arms he held the Beautiful Lady, and he was passionately kissing her eyes, her hair, her lips. * * * * * Philip retired in good order and closed the door softly, leaving them together. Once in the hall, he snatched up his cap and coat and slipped out of the front door. The afternoon light was fading. There was still a chance, he thought. He broke into a run. CHAPTER VIII THE HAMPSTEAD HEATH CONSPIRACY HE was right, but it was touch and go. Peggy was climbing down from her gate as Philip cantered up. "Hallo, Pegs!" he said breathlessly. Miss Falconer greeted him coldly. "Hallo!" she replied. "Going for a walk?"