He had risen, a little unsteadily. As he advanced, Straker saw that his face bore traces of violent emotion. His tie was a little crooked and his hair pushed from the forehead that had been hidden by his hands. His moustache no longer curled crisply upward; it hung limp over his troubled mouth. Furnival looked as if he had been drinking. But Furnival did not drink. Straker saw that he meant in his madness to follow Philippa. He turned down the lights that beat on him. "Don't," said Furnival. "I'm going all right." Straker held the door to. "I wouldn't," he said, "if I were you. Not yet." Furnival made the queer throat sound that came from him when words failed him. Straker put his hand on the young man's shoulder. He remembered how Mrs. Viveash had asked him to look after Furny, to stand by him if he had a bad time. She had foreseen, in the fierce clairvoyance of her passion, that he was going to have one. And, by Heaven! it had come. Furnival struggled for utterance. "All right," he said thickly. He wasn't going after her. He had been trying to get away from Straker; but Straker had been too much for him. Besides, he had understood Straker's delicacy in turning down the lights, and he didn't want to show himself just yet to the others. They strolled together amicably toward the lounge and sat there. Straker had intended to say, "What's up?" but other words were given him. "What's Philippa been up to?" Furnival pulled himself together. "Nothing," he replied. "It was me." "What did you do?" Furnival was silent. "Did you propose to her, or what?" "I made," said Furnival, "a sort of p-proposal." "That she should count the world well lost--was that it?" "Well, she knew I wasn't going to marry anybody, and I knew she wasn't going to marry me. Now was she?" "No. She most distinctly wasn't." "Very well, then--how was I to know? I could have sworn----" He hid his face in his hands again. "The fact is, I made the devil of a mistake." "Yes," said Straker. "I saw you making it." Furnival's face emerged angry. "Then why on earth didn't you _tell_ me? I asked you. Why couldn't you tell me what she was like?" "You don't tell," said Straker. Furnival groaned. "I can't make it out _now_. It's not as if she hadn't got a t-t-temperament." "But she hasn't. _That_ was the mistake you made." "You'd have made it yourself," said Furnival. "I have. She's taken me in. She _looks_ as if she had temperament--she behaves as if she had--oceans. And she hasn't, not a scrap." "Then what does she do it for? What does she do it for, Straker?" "I don't know what she does it for. She doesn't know herself. There's a sort of innocence about her." "I suppose," said Furnival pensively, "it's innocence."