“Oh, surely, my Phyllis, you don’t think that I—I——Oh, no! you cannot think that of me. Oh, my darling, if you should be so foolish as to think that I—that I still——Ah, I cannot speak about it. Listen to me, Phyllis: I tell you that as he conquered himself by the love which is of heaven, so have I conquered by the same Divine Power. The love which is in heaven—the love which is mine—has given me the victory also. Dear Phyllis, that man is nothing to me to-day. I tell you he is nothing—nothing! Ah, I don’t even hate him. If I should ever speak to him again it would be to send him back to you.”
Phyllis said nothing, and just then her father came into the room, and after a few minutes’ conventional chat Ella went away.
Mr. Ayrton remarked to Phyllis that her dearest friend was looking better than she had looked for many months, and then he laughed. Phyllis did not like his laugh. She looked at him—gravely—reproachfully.
“Pardon me, my dear,” said he; “but I was only thinking that—well—that she——Ah, after all, what is marriage?”
Phyllis did not reply. She saw by his eyes that he had found another phrase. What were phrases to her?
“Marriage is the most honorable preliminary to an effective widowhood,” said he.
She went out of the room.
During the next eight months Phyllis received many letters from Ella—some from Switzerland, some from Italy, and one from Calcutta. Ella had gone to India to make further inquiries on the subject of Buddhism. At any rate, no one whose heart was set upon building up a New Church could afford, she said, to ignore Buddhism as a power.
Mr. Holland agreed with her, she said. He had gone through India with her.
She returned to England in April, and of course went to see Phyllis without delay. Some men had wanted to marry Phyllis during the winter, as everybody knew, but she had been pleasantly irresponsive. Some of her closest friends (female) laughed and said that she had found out how silly she had been in throwing over Mr. Holland.