“Is not Evelyn vexed with you for not going more frequently?”
“No,” said Philippa. “She knows I could not help it. Now, of course—with Charley back—I shall be comparatively free. But—I don’t care to go much to Palden.”
“I think I know why,” said Maida. “Has it not to do with what you have often thought of telling me? And are you going to tell it to me?”
“On the whole,” said Philippa, “if you will not think me capricious, I think I would rather not. Some day, perhaps.”
“As you like, dear, exactly and entirely as you like. But—if I may ask you something?”
“Of course you may.”
“I would like to know—I cannot quite master my curiosity, you see, and indeed it is more interest in you than curiosity—I would like to know why you refused Bernard Gresham. For I am sure you did refuse him.”
“Yes, I did,” said Philippa, simply. “And I do not at all mind telling you why. It was just because I became entirely convinced that he and I were thoroughly unsuited to each other.”
Maida made a little gesture of agreement.
“I should not express it quite as you do,” she said. “I should say he was not worthy of you—not that I think ill of him in any way, but he is simply on a different level altogether. At first, I will own to you, I was disappointed when I saw it was not going to be. I was ‘worldly’ for you, Philippa. But I saw more of him again at Cannes last winter, and—I lost all feeling of disappointment. Even when I thought that you had refused to marry out of exaggerated ideas as to your duties at home—even then I did not regret it.”