Aunt Clo struck a rousing hand between Philip's shoulder-blades.
"Avanti! There is work for us all. Because you have failed once you need not despair."
"Failed?"
"You refused to listen to me—when I bade you face the truth. You deluded yourself with catchwords and pretty phrases, and allowed Vonnie to——"
Philip Stellenthorpe faced his sister with a grey face and compressed lips.
"That will do, Clotilde."
"Ah, coward, coward!" said Miss Stellenthorpe. But she spoke in lower and more doubtful tones and made no immediate attempt to impel her brother to face life with her own unflinching enjoyment of the process.
Her visit upon the whole did not greatly disturb the monotonous and purposeless routine of Philip's days. For many hours at a time Aunt Clo remained invisible, after announcing gravely and with a certain air of sad, steadfast responsibility, that she had many, many letters to write.
"Not idle, trivial notes or pages of foolish gossip, but words of counsel, of cheer to a darkened soul, I trust. There is one là-bas, who needs me, needs me greatly. A frail, delicate bird of foreign plumage, dashing its head against the bars of a gilded cage."
Sometimes it was a bird, sometimes a slender bark tossing upon stormy waters, sometimes a pale flower bent before the blast. But always Aunt Clo's support was craved, and always was she ready to devote her time, her energies, her pen-and-ink, to the task.