Had she not known him as a lover, wooing Phil with all the strength of his early manhood, all the force of the flood-tide of his love? Had she not seen him curbing that love lest any demonstration of too open affection might harm his cause with the woman who had not "liked heroics," wooing with innocent devices and tender subtlety? And she could almost hear the words he must have spoken when again he wooed. Small wonder that Philippa's heart had awaked to his appeal. The fact of her own affection, although it did not entirely blind her, distorted her outlook. She only saw that Francis' peace of mind must be preserved at all costs, and it was not likely that she, who would have sacrificed herself gladly for his lightest good, could bring a clear judgment to bear upon the ethics of the case. Had she been in Philippa's place no question of abstract morality would have carried weight with her. She would have taken any action which would have saved him from distress, just as surely as she would have plunged into fire to rescue him. She would never have stooped to casuistry or self-deception, but she would never have hesitated. She was not what may be called a religious woman as we understand the term. She believed with all her heart in a Supreme God whom she worshipped, but she could not agree to the restrictions which, it seemed to her, orthodoxy set upon His power, and she had no sympathy with women who trample heedlessly upon the feelings of others in a frantic effort to save their own souls. The truth being that Isabella, like so many of her sex who lead solitary lives, had constructed for herself a curious philosophy out of the hotch-potch of maxims, theories, prejudices and principles which she called her opinions, and it had at any rate the merit of being a philosophy of self-sacrifice and self-control. She realised that Philippa's new-found joy was built upon a delusion, that at any moment it might come tumbling about her ears, but that was hardly worth consideration, although it aroused in her a sense of pity. She had said "Love brings suffering," and in the words she had recited a clause in her creed of life. Had she not been taught by bitter experience? Love brings suffering, yes; but that was no reason for shrinking from Love. The greater the value of anything, the greater the price which must be paid. This was not cynicism, but common sense; and it was only a coward who did not welcome the suffering as an intrinsic part of the wonderful whole, only a miser who would not pay the price. She herself had paid it--ungrudgingly--in tears--in long years of loneliness--with empty hands. But with Philippa it was different. Happy Philippa, who might know the delight of Love's service. It is never so hard to suffer in the forefront of the battle, it is the inaction that tortures. CHAPTER XVIII MARION SPEAKS HER MIND "And truth is this to me, and that to thee."--_Idylls of the King_.