There was a moment of dead silence, and then a great cry; then a rush of feet; then silence again—silence that could be felt.
What had happened? Philip wondered.
Then, at last, came voices.
"Vivien! Vivien! Vivien! My little Vivien, after all these years! Thank God for his infinite goodness and mercy! My Vivien! My little girl!"
"Joe! Joe! Dear, dear Joe! At last, at last! Hold me closer, dear! I can't believe it yet! I'm frightened—hold me closer! Oh, my dear, my dear!"
Then the voices blended into an indeterminate, cooing, soothing murmur.
Philip looked into the library.
Upon the hearthrug, with his back to the door, stood Uncle Joseph, misogynist. In his arms he held the Beautiful Lady, and he was passionately kissing her eyes, her hair, her lips.
Philip retired in good order and closed the door softly, leaving them together.