"It is said, then. You mustn't say it twice, you know. That is vain repetition, and we have so much to say to each other that we have no time for that. I also must say once that I thank you for letting me do what I can. It would have been easier for you to have refused my help and to have refused to see me. Also it would have been more conventional. Now, about that there is just one word more to be said, and it is this. You told me once you looked upon me as an elder brother. Well, you have got to do it again. I'm going to manage for you. You have got, you and Evelyn, to do as I tell you in practical matters, because I'm practical and you are not." A great lump rose in Madge's throat. These days had tired her so; it was such an unutterable relief to have anything taken off her hands, to feel that the almost intolerable weight of the future was being shared by another. But for the moment she could not speak, and but just nodded to him. "Now, I am the bearer of a message first of all," he said, "and the message is from my mother. She wants you both--in fact, she insists on your coming down to Pangbourne for--for a period which she says had better be left indefinite. London, she truly says, is dust and ashes in September. It really would be the best plan, so will you join with me in persuading Evelyn, if persuasion is necessary?" "Ah, Philip," she said, "you cut me to the heart. And--and this makes it worse, that I accept your generosity for Evelyn's sake. It is that which--which is so ruthless." Philip's lip quivered a moment, but he went on bravely. "Well, as an elder brother I recommend it, too," he said; "for it is just that I want to be to you, dear. Ah, do you think I don't guess?" Madge got up, and drew a chair close to him. "Tell me about yourself, if it does not hurt you to talk of that," she said. "No, I want you to know what has happened to me," he said; "both because I have to ask your forgiveness for certain things----" "Ah, don't, don't!" said she. "Yes, you will see, and because perhaps what I have been through may help you. Well, Madge, I have been through deep waters, and waters as bitter as they were deep. For that month while I was in London I hated you and I hated him with such intensity that I think, but for the very hard work I did, I must have gone mad. And I think the only pleasure I felt was when I was the cause--indirectly anyhow--of his losing a large sum of money. I could have saved him that if I chose, but I did not choose. I must speak of that afterwards. But I loved you all the time I hated you, Madge, if you can understand that. All that was base and hard in me loathed you, because you had made me suffer; but there was something below, a very little thing, like a lump of leaven perhaps which still loved you, my infinitesimal better self. But all the time in London I did not know there was in me anything better than this worst.