"You poor little lad!" she said, very softly.
"But whose house is this?"
"My uncle's."
Lady Broadhurst's face cleared.
"I see," she said. "You have no parents of your own, but live with your uncle and aunt. Naturally you would regard them as your father and mother, and speak of them as such. I understand now. But that shall make no difference. In fact I like the scrupulous way you tell me everything. If your uncle is ill—"
"He isn't ill," said Philip regretfully.
"Then he is better?" said Lady Broadhurst with a cheerful smile. "In that case he will be able to travel at once."
Philip gripped the arm of his chair. The bad time had come.
"My uncle isn't a—" he began.
He was going to say "curate," but at that moment, to his profound surprise and unspeakable relief, there fell upon his ears the music of a latchkey in a lock, followed by the banging of the front door. Uncle Joseph had returned, an hour and a half before his time.