“No—he didn’t know I was coming.”
Again they looked at one another in silence.
“Please listen,” said Cecily after a time, slowly. “Though I did not leave my husband on your account, I shouldn’t have returned to his house if I had known that his—his friendship with you was not over.”
“It is over.”
“Then will you be kind enough to explain to me why you were here last week?”
Philippa’s eyes wavered. She began to trace patterns on the floor with her foot.
“I—I came to borrow money,” she answered under her breath.
Cecily leaned back in her chair. With Philippa’s words came a swift realization of the sordidness of a “love affair.” She was startled a moment later by a sudden torrent of words from the woman opposite to her.
“You’ll have to know all about it, I suppose!” she broke out in a hoarse, unnatural voice. “I’m desperate—hunted. Do you know what that feels like? Of course you don’t. There’s a man who threatens—oh, I can’t tell you!—I can’t tell you!” She broke into sudden hysterical crying.
“Hush!” said Cecily, more gently. “Tell me. You must tell me everything now. It is only fair to yourself, and to me. You wanted money, you say? But why didn’t you write, instead of——”