Then Philippa found herself. She saw the sudden flash in her husband's eyes, the grim fury in Griffiths' face. She stepped once more forward.
“Henry,” she insisted, “you must listen to what I have to say.”
“We have had enough words,” Griffiths interposed savagely.
Sir Henry ignored the interruption.
“I am listening, Philippa,” he said calmly.
“It was my intention an hour ago to leave this place with Mr. Lessingham to-night,” she told him deliberately.
“The devil it was!” Sir Henry muttered.
“As for the reason, you know it,” she continued, her tone full of courage. “I am willing to throw myself at your feet now, but all the same I was hardly treated. I was made the scapegoat of your stupid promise. You kept me in ignorance of things a wife should know. You even encouraged me to believe you a coward, when a single word from you would have changed everything. Therefore, I say that it is you who are responsible for what I nearly did, and what I should have done but for him—listen, Henry—but for him!”
“But for him,” her husband repeated curiously.
“It was Mr. Lessingham,” she declared, “who opened my eyes concerning you. It was he who refused to let me yield to that impulse of anger. Look at my coat there. My bag is on that table. I was ready to leave with him to-night. Before we went, he insisted on telling me everything about you. He could have escaped, and I was willing to go with him. Instead, he spent those precious minutes telling me the truth about you. That was the end.”