"Yes. I suppose there will have to be a blow up," said Jack, not very cheerfully. There was a curious thrill--was it pity or reluctance?--in her voice when she went on rapidly: "I blame myself for something. I ought to have told you before you went away that Bice was engaged to Mr Trent. I believe I thought something would be sure to happen to put an end to it." "I heard it from Trent himself. And it still goes on?" "Yes. The marriage is to be at Easter--or was." If there had been a clearer light in the room, Jack might have read something in Phillis's face, some hidden pain, some struggle with herself which might have disarmed him. As it was, he was hurt by her persistent belief in his caring for Bice. He said in a hard and strained voice, which she interpreted as pain from her own point of view-- "Here is a budget of news, indeed! It seems one should be a villain if one desires to succeed successfully." Phillis only thought of the pain in his voice. She leant forward and said with eagerness-- "But of course you will not allow her to be sacrificed?" "I? Why not? I suppose she knows what she is about--most women do," he said with gloom. But the next moment he turned towards her. "Really, I can't tell what she wishes, but I'll tell you what I'll do. She shall hear the precise facts as fairly as I can put them, without exaggeration. After that she must judge for herself. A woman ought to have some sort of notion what the man is like whom she intends to marry, unless, indeed, she cares for him so much that she is content to be blind. In that case--" He stopped. Phillis repeated quickly: "In that case--" "Hadn't she better remain undeceived?" She sighed. It seemed to her that he made her task very difficult. "Well, at any rate, let her judge fairly," she said. "Yes, that's due to her." He leant his arms on the table, and began pulling some cyclamen out of a great bunch. "_Viole pazze_," he went on; "Rome seems to have as many flowers as Florence. By the way, do you remember hearing me speak of a young Moroni who used to be a good deal at the villa? He came in my train yesterday from Florence." "Did he?" said Phillis absently. The constraint between them seemed to increase; they might have been strangers. Her effort had been greater than she knew, and she felt more sad and weary than before Jack came in, while something told her that the hardest part was to come. Jack himself went on playing with the poor cyclamen, no less uncomfortable than she. He wanted to say something about Hetherton, and did not know how to begin. Phillis relieved him of the difficulty. "Tell me something about Aunt Harriet, please," she said. "It is an age since she wrote. Of course you saw her while you were in England?" "Yes. I went to Hetherton at once, and to my amazement found that fellow Trent spending his Christmas there. Did you know he was so thick with them?"