“It is said, then. You mustn’t say it twice, you know. That is vain repetition, and we have so much to say to each other that we have no time for that. I also must say once that I thank you for letting me do what I can. It would have been easier for you to have refused my help and to have refused to see me. Also it would have been more conventional. Now, about that there is just one word more to be said, and it is this. You told me once you looked upon me as an elder brother. Well, you have got to do it again. I’m going to manage for you. You have got, you and Evelyn, to do as I tell you in practical matters, because I’m practical and you are not.”
A great lump rose in Madge’s throat. These days had tired her so; it was such an unutterable relief to have anything taken off her hands, to feel that the almost intolerable weight of the future was being shared by another. But for the moment she could not speak, and but just nodded to him.
“Now, I am the bearer of a message first of all,” he said, “and the message is from my mother. She wants you both—in fact, she insists on your coming down to Pangbourne for—for a period which she says had better be left indefinite. London, she truly says, is dust and ashes in September. It really would be the best plan, so will you join with me in persuading Evelyn, if persuasion is necessary?”
“Ah, Philip,” she said, “you cut me to the heart. And—and this makes it worse, that I accept your generosity for Evelyn’s sake. It is that which—which is so ruthless.”
Philip’s lip quivered a moment, but he went on bravely.
“Well, as an elder brother I recommend it, too,” he said; “for it is just that I want to be to you, dear. Ah, do you think I don’t guess?”
Madge got up, and drew a chair close to him.
“Tell me about yourself, if it does not hurt you to talk of that,” she said.
“No, I want you to know what has happened to me,” he said; “both because I have to ask your forgiveness for certain things——”
“Ah, don’t, don’t!” said she.