Robert walked on. The little interview had not raised his spirits, and as he turned into the quiet, rather shabby little road which contained Philippa’s studio, it was with a shock the reverse of pleasant that he saw Nevern coming down the steps of her house. He knew the young man slightly, and nodded to him as he passed. Before the door opened, he noticed that Nevern turned and watched his admittance with what his imagination, at least, construed into an angry frown. Philippa opened the door--she kept no servant--and he followed her upstairs without speaking. When the studio door closed she turned round and looked at him, inquiry in her eyes. “Well?” she said, tenderly, in her deepest voice as she held out both hands. Robert ignored them, and walked moodily towards the fire. “Robert!” murmured Philippa. He was silent. Philippa hesitated a moment, then, as though taking a sudden determination, she followed him to the fire, and resting one elbow on the mantelpiece, looked at him haughtily. “Will you explain?” she demanded. “What was Nevern doing here?” asked Robert, abruptly. Philippa raised her eyebrows. “He was calling on me.” “Does he often call? Do you often have men here--to see you?” He spoke in a voice of suppressed anger. “Quite often,” returned Philippa, firmly; “why not?” Robert was silent. Presently he turned sharply towards the window, and stood looking out upon the roof-tops opposite. Philippa remained standing by the mantelpiece. There was impatience in her face, and a certain indecision. Once she opened her lips to speak, and refrained. Finally, with a shrug of the shoulders, she went to him and laid her hand gently on his arm. “Surely this is not jealousy, Robert?” she said, plaintively. “After all our talks? After our mutual agreement upon that subject?” “It’s all very well!” exclaimed Robert; “but if, under--our circumstances, a woman doesn’t know what is due to the man she professes to love, would you have him say nothing?” “I would have him so trust the woman he professes to love that he should feel jealousy an insult to her,” she returned, with lowered eyelids. Robert did not answer for a moment; when he spoke his voice was husky. “You don’t understand,” he began, “how a man feels when----” “When a woman spends half an hour in giving good advice to a boy?” smiled Philippa. “Oh, Robert, don’t let us profane our love. Do let us keep vulgar jealousy out of it. I want so much to make it a real inspiration, an ennobling influence in our lives. Come, Robert! Be good.” The last words were uttered pleadingly, and he turned. She looked very beautiful, with her face upraised to his, and moved by a sudden gust of passion, Robert flung his arms round her and kissed her white throat. * * * * *