It was clearly high time that her mother should be told of her engagement, and of the fact that she was shortly going to be married; it was unkind to leave her in ignorance, and yet Philippa could not bring herself to write the news. It was so difficult to explain, and she knew the volley of questions which would descend upon her. It was even possible that Lady Lawson would come flying to England in order to assist at the ceremony, which was the last thing her daughter desired. All she wished for was that she and Francis might be married as quietly and as privately as possible--she intended to settle the details with Marion and her husband when they came--and then slip away to the Magical Island. Once there she could take hold of life with her two hands and mould it to her will. She gave a little sigh as she thought of it, for now that she had awaked from her dreams into a world of realities she saw the future in a different light; but she was quite determined, she was going to wrest happiness--her own happiness and that of the man she loved--from the hands of fate. She was going straight forward. Never again would she allow herself a backward glance, lest the recollection of the glamour she had known weakened her with vain longings for what had been a dream. It had been a dream. She knew that now, but in the future she might find herself dreaming it again and know it true; for dreams do sometimes come true. She gave up the attempt at last--it was impossible to write fully to her mother to-day. She would keep her precious secret a little longer. To tell it to Lady Lawson was to blazon it out to the world at large, and that was more than she could bear. She joined Francis after a while and found him looking better than on the previous evening. He declared himself perfectly well, and suggested that they should go for their drive as soon as possible. "I am afraid it is still raining," she answered, going to the window; "but I can see a patch of blue sky, and the clouds are lifting a little. We shall have to wait until after luncheon." "It rained very heavily in the night," said Francis. "Did it disturb you? I hope not. Old Goodie told me you had had a good night." "So I did, dearest, but I heard the rain nevertheless. I am afraid I was rather dull and stupid last evening. I am sorry." "You were not dull and stupid, but I think you were tired." He nodded. "My head felt rather tired. I found it difficult to collect my thoughts, and it worried me rather. Darling," he continued, coming closer to her, "forgive me if I am a nuisance sometimes, but--my memory is all wrong still--it must be, for so much seems strange to me. It seems as if there were blanks I cannot account for. But you are the same; and you will never change, will you?" And Philippa answered him with all her heart: "I love you and I shall never change."