“I hope I may see you again, soon.”
“Of course,” said Evelyn, cheerfully. “I am sure father will be delighted to see you. He enjoys so little now.”
He had taken both her hands to say good-by, and was looking hungrily into her eyes.
“I can't go so. Evelyn, you know, you must know, I love you.”
And before the girl comprehended him he had drawn her to him and pressed his lips upon hers.
The girl started back as if stung, and looked at him with flashing eyes.
“What have you done, what have you done to me?”
Her eyes were clouded, and she put her hands to her face, trembling, and then with a cry, as of a soul born into the world, threw herself upon him, her arms around his neck—“Philip, Philip, my Philip!”
XXVII
Perhaps Philip's announcement of his good-fortune to Alice and to Celia was not very coherent, but his meaning was plain. Perhaps he was conscious that the tidings would not increase the cheerfulness of Celia's single-handed struggle for the ideal life; at least, he would rather write than tell her face to face.