A church clock struck half-past ten, and she quickened her pace. She was late, and it would not do to put Robert into a bad temper. His note had been more affectionate than usual, the effect of absence, she supposed, and she resigned herself to the thought of a love scene. She wondered whether he would talk about Cecily. Lately he had begun to talk about his wife, whose name had at first never been mentioned between them. From his irritable remarks Philippa had for some time gathered that, as with unaccustomed bluntness she put it to herself, he was beginning to be jealous, and she wondered a little idly if, “when things were over,” he and Cecily would be reunited. The matter did not interest her greatly. Women were not very interesting to Philippa, and her thoughts soon diverged to the consideration that she had a trying morning before her, and that it was above all things necessary to keep her temper. Naturally, Philippa’s temper was not very good, but in proud humility she had often controlled it lately “for Nigel’s sake.” The thought was a great stay and consolation. She was glad to discover what might be endured with the sustaining inspiration of a really noble love. Robert was pacing the study when she entered, and she went towards him with outstretched hands. He glanced at the clock. “You were in no great hurry,” he said, coldly. “Robert!” There was hurt, but tender reproach in her voice. “Your clock is fast. I didn’t like to come before the time. I thought it might seem----” She hesitated, as though confused. “You’ve been quite on the safe side.” “Robert, dear!”--she put her hands on his shoulders, and looked into his eyes--“aren’t you going to kiss me?” He put his lips to hers, and Philippa reflected that she might have been married five or six years. She felt at the same time relieved and impatient. “Did you have a nice holiday?” she asked, taking off her hat. “It doesn’t seem to have done you much good.” The last words were tinged with a shade of acrimony as she glanced at him. There were ugly lines about his face, and Philippa recalled with satisfaction Nevern’s handsome profile. Robert was growing very unattractive. “I’ve been sleeping so badly,” he complained. “Well, what shall I do first?” was Philippa’s comment as she seated herself at her own writing-table in the window. Robert moved to his desk, and stood fidgeting with a paper-knife before he answered. “So you don’t want to know anything about it?” he burst out at last. “What I’ve been doing? Who was there? Anything, in fact.” She shrugged her shoulders. “My dear Robert, any one would think you’d been round the world, instead of a fortnight on the river.” “You’d have been anxious enough a year ago,” he returned, bitterly. She made an impatient exclamation. “How unreasonable you are! I come in, longing to see you, and hear all about it, and you’re as cross as two sticks. And now----”