She pushed her crushed hat at the right angle, her head drooped to its accustomed position, a little on one side, her body reassumed its yearning lines. She held out both hands to Cecily.
“How we have misjudged each other, you and I!” she exclaimed, employing the deep tones in her voice. “I thought you unsympathetic, unimaginative. And you no doubt thought me——” She hesitated. It became difficult with Cecily’s eyes upon her to suggest the possible mental attitude she might formerly have adopted towards her husband’s secretary. “You have a fine nature,” she murmured. “You——”
Cecily checked her sharply. The impulsive wave of pity had passed.
“Please don’t,” she said, coldly. “I’m not noble, nor generous, nor a fine character, nor any of the things you are fond of talking about.” Her heart began to beat quickly. “You altered the world for me!” she cried, with a sudden passion for which she could not account. “Some one would have done it anyhow, no doubt; I have realized that. But it happened to be you. If I were jealous now, I couldn’t lift a finger to help you. But the worst of it is, I’m not jealous any more, and because you’re a woman, too,—and that in itself is hard enough,—I’ll help you now. You have taught me to put it out of any man’s power to hurt me much again. But listen to me!” Her voice rang imperatively. Philippa raised unwilling eyes, and the women looked at each other. “For what I’ve had to kill to make it possible not to be hurt, I will never forgive you to the end of my life.” The words were uttered with an intense deliberation. Philippa paled, and turned away without offering her hand.
Before she reached the door, she heard Cecily’s voice again. This time it was quite under control. She spoke as though they had been conducting an ordinary business interview.
“Good-bye. Please tell me exactly how matters stand, and everything shall be arranged.”
Philippa closed the door. She was saved, but it had been at a price.
CHAPTER XXVI
IN the adjoining room, meantime, Rose Summers was passing through her mauvais quart d’heure. She was bewildered, indignant, uncertain. The whole aspect of the situation appeared to have changed—yet dare she say anything to one of the chief actors in the drama?—an actor who sat opposite to her with a stolid demeanor and tragic eyes. She decided that she did not dare. Cecily was, therefore, unavoidably detained for a few minutes, but would not be long. In the meanwhile Rose looked at Mayne, and very ridiculously wanted to cry.
“So you’ve got your own way, as usual,” he began, quizzically, after a few perfunctory questions from Rose about his forthcoming expedition.