But not even his interest in Mrs. Robinson's affairs--for so he described, even to himself, the feeling which dominated him--had ever caused Winfrith to neglect his own work, or the public business with which he was concerned; and this divided allegiance, as he sometimes suspected, caused her more real annoyance than his frequent and frank criticisms of her actions, and his tacit refusal to join in the pretty flatteries of her other friends. As Penelope had learnt with anger, there were times and seasons when even the most imperious note, the most urgent appeal, could not bring him to her side. But while this state of things had irked her greatly, especially in the early days of the renewal of their friendship, she had always been aware that any ordinary pleasure or personal concern was always flung aside, counted as nothing to the delight of being with her and of acting as her confidential adviser and friend. To-day, while looking into his plain face, aware of the sternness of the strong jaw, the ugly peculiarity of an exceptionally long upper lip, Penelope's heart contracted with sudden tenderness as she evoked the memory of the long years during which they had known one another with so deep, so wordless, an intimacy. For a moment there was silence between them. Then he said, rather sharply: 'Well, what is it you want me to do? Of course I will give you the best advice in my power, and not, I hope, for the last time.' As he spoke he stood up and placed himself with his back to the window, and for a moment Penelope saw the heavy, broad-shouldered figure outlined against the sea and sky, his face--and this vaguely relieved her--being in complete shadow. But she turned away, looked straight before her as she said quickly, her voice full of defiant decision: 'Yes, I want to ask your advice, and more, to beg you to help me about a certain matter.' She paused, and added: 'I have made some notes on a piece of paper. I think I laid it down before you came in.' Winfrith wheeled round, and looked at the table against which he had been leaning. On coming into the room he had paid no attention to Penelope's preparations for their interview, but now, as he became aware of the odd little bundles of lawyer's letters, each tied together with tape, and of the despatch-boxes, inscribed with the initials M. W. R., he felt amused, and even a little touched. 'These look quite old papers,' he said kindly. 'Perhaps you forgot to bring your notes in here with you, or--wait a moment--what is that you are holding in your hand?'