East of the Shadows

by Mrs. Hubert Barclay

POOR RIP

"Since knowledge is but sorrow's spy
It is not safe to know."—DAVENANT.

The early post brought Philippa two letters next morning. One was from Marion, who wrote to say that their plans were suddenly changed, and that Philippa must not be surprised to receive a telegram at any moment announcing their immediate return; the truth being that Dickie, who up to now progressed well towards recovery, had begun to pine for his own belongings and his familiar surroundings, and that, with all the fretfulness of childhood in convalescence, he asked unceasingly to go home. His demand had become so persistent, in spite of all his parents could say or do to pacify him, that the doctor had said it might be wiser to take the risk of moving him sooner than was expedient rather than allow him to wear himself out with tears and unhappiness.

"He is not really naughty, dear little boy," so ran the mother's words, "but he cannot be content. He won't pay any attention to toys or games, and whatever I do to amuse him he turns away his head and his little lip quivers pathetically. 'Thank you very much,' he says wearily, 'but I don't want it. I want to go home.' So there is nothing to be done but move him as soon as possible—the sooner the better, I think, but the doctor wants to put it off a day or two if he can. Will you tell the servants to get the rooms ready, and I will let you know when we actually start? We shall motor all the way, as we can make up a bed for Dickie in the car; I am sure he will be perfectly quiet so soon as he knows he is really going home.

"Both Bill and I are most anxious that our coming should not disturb Francis in any way, and if you will let us know exactly what the doctor's wishes are we will see that they are carried out. If he thinks it wiser that Francis should not see us we will arrange our comings and goings so that we do not meet him. I gather from your letters that except for the time he spends out of doors, he is mostly in his own rooms, and if it is desirable we will keep away from that part of the house altogether. I shall be so glad to be home again—almost as glad as Dickie, I think, and I shall be glad to be at hand in case you need me in any way."

Marion wrote very affectionately, and did not in any way allude to their difference of opinion at their last meeting, but Philippa was a little distressed at the subject of her letter. She would so infinitely rather have continued alone with Francis, following their usual routine until their marriage. She had no doubt that Marion was right when she said that their coming need not disturb Francis in any way; but still it would not be quite the same as when they had the house to themselves. One cannot entirely ignore the presence of one's host and hostess, however self-effacing they may be, and in a sense it would be a danger, for now that Francis was able to walk he might at any time choose to depart from his custom and so come upon them without warning. However, it was impossible to make any contrary suggestion in the face of the reason which compelled their change of plans, and it only remained for her to be constantly on the watch to guard against any accidental meeting.

The other letter was from her mother, who wrote in her gayest style, describing all she was doing—the last party—the last fashion in dress—the craze of the moment—and the new dancer whose fascination both on and off the stage kept the gossips busy. She ended by asking Philippa for the address of a certain dressmaker in Paris whom she had previously employed. She had lost it, and would Philippa be an angel, underlined, and telegraph it to her at once, underlined, as she wanted it immediately.

At the bottom of the large sheet of notepaper was a postscript—"I am longing to know whether you are coming to us for the winter. We should simply love to have you. Do answer, dearest, because I want to make all sorts of arrangements and cannot settle anything until I know."

Philippa searched her address-book until she found what she wanted, and wrote out a telegram and gave it to the butler for dispatch. Then she returned to the writing-table and took up her pen, but she did not commence to write.

It was clearly high time that her mother should be told of her engagement, and of the fact that she was shortly going to be married; it was unkind to leave her in ignorance, and yet Philippa could not bring herself to write the news. It was so difficult to explain, and she knew the volley of questions which would descend upon her. It was even possible that Lady Lawson would come flying to England in order to assist at the ceremony, which was the last thing her daughter desired. All she wished for was that she and Francis might be married as quietly and as privately as possible—she intended to settle the details with Marion and her husband when they came—and then slip away to the Magical Island. Once there she could take hold of life with her two hands and mould it to her will.