He stared at her stupidly, stammered: "How—how do you know?"
"Pater told me to-night, just as I was starting to come here," and she added naïvely: "to come and meet you. Good old Pater, he is arranging it all. Now, what do you say to that for a piece of news?"
"It is extremely kind of him, but I don't want it, I don't deserve it!" he cried in desperation. "You must tell him—it must be stopped——"
"What on earth are you talking about? If you don't deserve it, who does? Anyway, it's to be yours, whether you feel you deserve it or not, and I can't tell you how proud I feel that in a kind of way you will have got it through me!"
Through her! and through her, if he chose to say the word, he could have all that, to the world, would appear to make life well worth the living. For the moment the temptation was strong, almost overwhelming. Here, for the asking, was the devotion of a clever, capable girl who had the makings of a true comrade, who would revive his ambitions, enter wholeheartedly into his career; he saw himself honoured, successful, beyond his dreams; a power in the country that he loved to serve, with every advantage, officially and socially, in his grasp. Why should he hesitate? Here was his chance! he stood at the turning-point of his existence that meant "fortune" without struggle or delay if he went boldly forward....
Then, all at once, sweeping aside the temptation, the brilliant outlook, came the thought of Stella, the true Star of his life and his heart; and dimly he felt that to barter the memory of that other star, however far from his reach, for tangible gain would be infamous, contemptible. The shadow was more to him than the substance; he could not do this thing and feel that his purpose was clean!
"I suppose you will think I am mad," he said slowly, with difficulty, "but there is something—something that stands in the way——"
The girl paled, dropped the end of her cigarette into the saucer, and he saw her hands grip the arms of the chair. "Is it—is it because——" she lost her self-control. "Oh! don't look at me like that! Can't you see—what does anything matter! Don't be so proud. Nothing can be too good for you—Philip!"
She rose, held her hands out to him, firm, square hands; he took them gently, reverently, and she swayed as she recognised the lack of passion in his touch.
Haltingly, as best he could, he tried to tell her the truth, but it all sounded so elusive, so unsubstantial, he felt he could hardly expect her to comprehend. Silence fell between them; he turned from her in painful regret.