“Oh, what a pity! What a pity!” she exclaimed, softly, after a pause. There was the tenderest commiseration and regret in her emotional voice. Robert felt his heart stirred painfully. He wanted to kiss her dress, but refrained. “What is a pity?” he asked, in a low tone. “That she doesn’t understand you, Fergus!” “She thinks she does.” “Ah, yes!--that is the tragedy.” “Oh, we all have them!” said Robert, lightly. She leaned a little towards him. “At least I do that, Fergus? Understand you?” Her voice, still low, was tremulous. He seized her hands. “As no one has ever understood me!” he cried. “Philippa! No! Don’t move. Don’t! I must tell you--I can’t----” She struggled to loose her hands, and he released them. When she was free she moved a little away from him, to the other end of the bench, and sat motionless, her eyes fixed on the ground. Robert was abashed. He had angered her--he did not know how deeply! He hesitated. “Philippa,” he whispered at last, “you are angry?” “Not angry,” she returned almost at once, “but disappointed, Fergus. More than once you have promised not to let that kind of thing happen again.” “I know,” he began, humbly, “but----” “What were we talking about?” she asked, in a studiously quiet tone. “I don’t know,” admitted Robert, with truth. His head was in a whirl. “About you, I expect,” she returned, with no trace of sarcasm. “Yours is a very finely strung temperament. It requires the sympathy that comes of insight. Now if Cecily would only----” She paused, as though hesitating to criticise. “Cecily surprised me a good deal the other day,” he said, suddenly. “I meant to tell you.” “Oh?” Her voice grew slightly cold. “How? I shouldn’t have thought her a woman of many surprises.” Robert broke off a twig from an overhanging hazel, snapped it, and threw it away before he spoke. “She accused me of being tired of her. Said she had no wish to stand in my way. No,” in answer to her sudden inquiring look, “she brought no accusation; she has heard nothing of our--our friendship. It was just a whim, I suppose. But--I’ve taken her at her word.” Her eyes held his. “You mean?” “She wished that we should be friends,” he returned, with a shrug of the shoulders. “We shall be--friends, henceforth.” Before he could analyze the expression which leaped to her eyes, she had averted her head. “I am sorry,” she whispered, softly. There was a long pause. “Is Mr. Mayne an old friend of hers?” Robert started. “Yes,” he returned, reluctantly. “She has known him since she was a girl of seventeen or eighteen. I asked him here,” he added, with an effort. Philippa turned an illumined face towards him. “As a lesson in generosity? I see.” She regarded him as the angel who holds the palm-branch might regard the soldier-saint who had earned it. “That was splendid of you, Fergus!” Involuntarily he put out a hand as though to avert her words.