Insensibly Robert’s face softened. He kissed her, this time warmly. Half an hour later, as she was putting on her hat to go, he said, in a tone purposely gentle and conciliatory: “You’d better show me that note to Nevern. It won’t do to offend him. He’s a good fellow, though he _does_ write rot. Perhaps I could get Field to look at some of his stuff--or Ridgway, possibly.” Philippa turned over the pile of letters she had written, and found what she was seeking. “I want some long envelopes,” she remarked, handing the note to him as she passed. “No, don’t trouble, dear, I’ll get them. They’re in the cupboard in the hall.” She went out, and Robert carelessly opened the letter she had left. He glanced at the first word, and dropped the paper as though it burned him. A dark flush began to spread slowly over his face as he stood looking at it a moment, before he again snatched it up. He had the letter in his hand when Philippa entered, standing with his back to the door, and an elbow on the mantelpiece. She put the envelopes in the table drawer, gathered up the pile of notes, then turned and stood waiting. “Will it do, dear?” she asked. “Admirably,” said Robert, without moving. She started. “I have to apologize for opening the wrong letter,” he went on, almost in the same breath. “Your official communication to Nevern is probably among the letters in your hand.” His cold, clear voice reached her senses like a voice in a dream. Mechanically she glanced down at the envelopes she held, then back at Robert’s immovable face. She grew slowly white to the lips. They were stiff when she tried to move them. At last the words came. “Robert,” she began in a whisper, “don’t think too badly of me. Let me explain.” She paused, watching in a fascinated way his slow smile, as he continued to look at her. Presently she could bear it no longer, and dropped her eyes. “Mr. Nevern has asked me to be his wife,” she said, desperately. “Poor devil!” was Robert’s comment on the information. There was another silence. “Robert!” she implored, still in a whisper, dragging herself closer to him. “Won’t you let me explain?” He retreated a step. “My dear Philippa,” he returned, with a laugh, “why explain the obvious? It is all quite simple. I am a fool, and you are--a woman.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s one o’clock. Don’t let me keep you. Good-bye.” The quiet finality of his tone overwhelmed her. She turned at once to go. “One moment,” he said. “Your letter.” He folded it with precision, replaced it in its envelope, and handed it to her politely. Philippa took it silently, opened the door, and went out without a backward glance. CHAPTER XX Cecily and Mrs. Summers had arrived at the coffee stage of lunch. They were alone, Robert having left a message that he was going out.