That meant that Fanny was blaming Philippa as much as she could blame anybody. Immorality she understood, and could excuse; for immorality there was always some provocation; what she couldn't stand was the unfairness of Philippa's proceeding, the inequality in the game. "I'm very fond of her, but--she's bad for him, Jimmy. She's worse, far worse, than Nora, poor dear." "I shouldn't worry about him if I were you." "I do worry. You see, you can't help liking him. There's something about Furny--I don't know what it is, unless it's the turn of his nose----" "Do you think Philippa likes him? Do you think she's at all taken with the turn of his nose?" "If she only would be! Not that he means to marry her. That's the one point where he's firm. That's where he's awful. Why, oh, why did I ever ask them? I thought he was safe with Nora." "Did you?" "Something must be done," she cried, "to stop it." "Who's to do it?" "You or I. Or Will. Anybody!" "Look here, Fanny, let's get it quite clear. What are you worrying about? Are you saving Philippa from Furnival, or Furnival from Philippa?" "Philippa," Fanny moaned, "doesn't want saving. She can take care of herself." "I see. You are fond of Philippa, but your sympathies are with Furny?" "Well he can _feel_, and Philippa----" She left it there for him, as her way was. "Precisely. Then why worry about Philippa?" "Because it's really awful, and it's in my house that it'll happen." "How long are they staying?" "Lord knows how long." "Poor Fanny. You can't get them to go, can you?" "I've thought of things. I've told Will he must have an illness." "And will he?" "Not he. He says, as I asked them, I ought to have the illness. But if I did she'd stay and nurse me. Besides, if we ousted the whole lot to-morrow, _they'll_ meet again. He'll see to that; and so will Philippa." There was a long pause. "I want _you_ to do it. I want you to tell her." "Good Lord, what am I to tell her?" "Tell her it isn't nice; tell her it isn't worth while; tell her Furny isn't fair game; tell her anything you can think of that'll stop her." "I don't see myself----" "I do. She won't listen to anybody but you." "Why me?" "She respects you." "I doubt it. Why should she?" "Because you've never made yourself a spectacle of folly. You've never told her you're in love with her." "But I'm not," said poor Straker. "She doesn't know that. And if she did she'd respect you all the more." "Dear Fanny, I'd do a great deal for you, but I can't do that. I can't, really. It wouldn't be a bit of good." "You could speak," Fanny said, "to Furny." "I couldn't." "Why _not_?" she cried, in desperation. "Because, if I did, I should have to assume things--things that you cannot decently assume. I can't speak to him. Not, that is, unless he speaks to me." VIII He did speak to him that very night.