“I should only want her--and indeed she could only come--for an hour or two in the morning,” Robert went on, quite fluently now. “She has her own work--enamelling, isn’t it? And of course she wouldn’t want to give that up entirely. But she can’t make a living at it; and I thought, as she’s a friend of yours, if I could do her a good turn----” Cecily rose. “By all means do her a good turn,” she said. “But what has that to do with it? The question is, will she make a good secretary? If you think she will, I should engage her. I must go and get ready. I promised to meet Mrs. Carrington at three o’clock.” As she closed the door after her, Robert shrugged his shoulders. He was honestly reflecting that it was the unreasoning prejudice of women that made marriage slavery. Dispassionately he reviewed his own case. Granted that if she knew of his relations with Philippa, it would be impossible to make his wife view them from any but the vulgar standpoint; granted this, the point at issue was that she did _not_ know. From her point of view, therefore, he was the conventionally faithful husband, and, this notwithstanding, it was _she_ who had annulled their married life. So far as her knowledge went, Philippa was a mere acquaintance of his, a woman with whom, during her stay at Sheepcote, he had been moderately friendly; a woman to whom, because she was poor and comparatively friendless, he wished to extend a helping hand. Immediately, her attitude, if not hostile, had been at least uncordial. He began to rage at its obvious injustice. Regarded from Cecily’s standpoint it was monstrous. On no stronger ground than that of a frivolous accusation of lack of affection on his part, to insist on a practical separation, and then to be jealous of his women friends! He rose from the table with an exclamation of impatience. It was amazing that no later than yesterday he should have dreaded making this proposition to Cecily, that he should have shrunk from it as something in bad taste, something forced upon him only by the pressing necessity of helping a proud woman, who would be helped in no other way. His scruples had been needless, and even ridiculous. By her own action Cecily had set him free to do what he would with his life. He took his hat, and later a hansom, and drove to Fulham. * * * * *