Lady Wilmot turned as though a fog-signal had gone off under her chair. Rose sprang to her feet, and moved nearer to Cecily. “When I tell you that Miss Burton was here the other night at my request,” Cecily went on in the same tone, “you will understand that you have made a grave mistake.” The faintest flicker of eyelashes was the only sign of surprise which Rose allowed herself. She stood and waited, with an impassive countenance, while Lady Wilmot gasped. “At your request?” she stammered. “Yes. Why not?” returned Cecily, her mind still working, as it seemed, independently of her. “Miss Burton, as you know, was my husband’s secretary up to the time we closed the flat. A few days ago he wrote to me from Aldeburgh about a manuscript which he thought I had taken abroad with me. I happened to know it was here. Naturally, as Miss Burton knew all about his papers, I wrote to her to come and find it. I don’t know why she should have chosen the late hour you mention, certainly. That is her own affair. Probably she was busy earlier. In any case, my husband was not in the flat at the time. As I tell you, he wrote to me from Aldeburgh.” Lady Wilmot finished patting her boa, and readjusted her veil, with an assumption of calmness which Rose secretly admired. “I’m sure I’m very sorry. Philippa, my dear, I must apologize.” She held out her hand to Cecily. “And I’m quite sure neither of you young people will bear me any malice,” she added, looking from one to another. “You, my dear Cecily, will certainly appreciate the motive.” “Perfectly,” said Cecily, gravely. “Rose, do you mind going to the door with Lady Wilmot?” CHAPTER XXV When the door closed, Cecily, without a glance at Philippa, who stood motionless just within the room, crossed blindly to the window, and stood looking out. Half consciously she noticed the cathedral tower against the sky. The sight of it reminded her of her struggles for peace and freedom, their slow attainment, her hardly won serenity. Disgust filled her mind. It was for this, then, that she had abandoned Dick, and hurried back hundreds of miles to a man who was ready to subject her once more to insult. She smiled to herself disdainfully at the thought of Rose’s credulity, of her own emotional tenderness. The door-bell rang suddenly. A moment, and she heard a man’s footstep, and a man’s voice. It was Dick! Rose was asking him into the dining-room, where she herself was sitting. Involuntarily Cecily turned--her one instinct to go to him. Through her mind darted possibilities. She had taken no irrevocable step--nothing was yet too late. As she turned, her eyes fell upon Philippa, whose presence she had forgotten. She was still standing, waiting till Cecily should move, and, as for the second time her eyes met Cecily’s, she was struck afresh by their desperate appeal. Well as she knew, and contemptuous as she was, of all Philippa’s posing, this new look of hers was genuine. It served to stay her steps.