"How can you tell that, my poor child—what do you know of these things? This business must be tackled by a man. Shall I go up to town at once?"
"I don't think so."
Hard-won certainties, that Lily had scarcely known herself to possess, rallied round her. Her own inner convictions crystallised into decisive speech, gained strength every moment.
"No. It isn't a question for that sort of thing at all—I mean scenes and interviews and recriminations. I shall have to tell Nicholas that I know, and then—then I suppose we shall talk it all over, and see what ought to be done—if anything."
"You don't realize," groaned Philip. "My poor little inexperienced child, you must be guided by me. It may not be as bad as we think."
Lily thought for a moment and then found herself speaking with a decision that surprised herself.
"This is something that I must decide for myself. You can't help me. Nobody can, except Nicholas himself. I should like him to come down here, please."
"You would rather that than let me take you up to London? But are you sure that he will come?"
"Quite sure," said Lily.
In her own mind, she was thinking that very likely Nicholas would write and ask her to come home, before she had even time to send her summons to him. He wasn't deceiving her, "leading a double life," as the conventions of fiction and the drama.