For Philippa had sprung up with an inarticulate exclamation and rushed out of the room. The sting of the accusation lay in the fact that her reason assured her of its truth. It was not to see her that Cyril paid his daily visits to the villa, passing on invariably from the large drawing-room into the boudoir beyond, there to pay his respects to the Princess. These interviews were protracted far beyond the limits ordained by ceremony, and Countess Birnsdorf had felt it necessary to apologise for their length by observing to Philippa that she was quite glad to see Count Mortimer coming in, for no one else had been able to induce the Princess to forget her sorrows in conversation since her bereavement. This information Philippa had received with a certain reserve, for the Princess had not struck her as overwhelmed with grief; but she saw now that the old lady had been endeavouring to divert her mind from a suspicion that had already troubled herself. But had the idea occurred to Cyril? Could he know that the purport of his visits was thus interpreted? Surely it could only be that, impelled at first merely by the desire of cheering the Princess, he had afterwards been attracted by the conversation of a clever and brilliant woman? At any rate, he should be warned what people were saying about him. With this resolve strong in her mind Philippa walked to the garden-gate to meet her uncle, attended only by Princess Lida’s white poodle. One glance at her troubled face showed Cyril that something serious was in the air; but, in his usual teasing fashion, he talked continuously on indifferent subjects. When they came in sight of the house Philippa stopped short, in agony lest the opportunity should be lost. “Uncle Cyril, I want to ask you something. Is the Princess a friend of yours? Usk and I always thought she had done something to injure you.” “So she did, Phil. But is it your creed that once an enemy always an enemy? No? Then you see I too can be virtuous and overlook my enemies’ faults--sometimes.” “But they say--they say you want to marry her,” Philippa succeeded in bringing out. “Do they? How kind of them! Would you like the Princess for an aunt, Phil? She’s a charming woman, isn’t she?” “Oh, Uncle Cyril, you wouldn’t--you don’t mean it?” “Well, Phil, I have no present intention of inviting her to become your aunt. Would you like to know why? Because I am afraid she would say no, of course, and your feelings might be hurt.”