Philippa turned an illumined face towards him. “As a lesson in generosity? I see.” She regarded him as the angel who holds the palm-branch might regard the soldier-saint who had earned it. “That was splendid of you, Fergus!”
Involuntarily he put out a hand as though to avert her words.
“I thought it was only fair she should have some one to talk to,” he said, trying to speak carelessly, and annoyed that the words sounded like a self-justification.
“Oh, I hope she’ll see it as you meant it, and be worthy of it!” cried Philippa, almost as though it were a prayer. “But, Fergus, you mustn’t be surprised if she doesn’t,” she added, with regret. “Cecily, you know, is vain. I remember that of her as a striking characteristic from our schooldays. She’s so charming, so lovable, but she’s weak, Fergus.... Poor Fergus!” she murmured, “I wish I had the right to comfort you!” The breeze fluttered her mysterious hair. In the soft green gloom flung by the trees, her eyes looked like forest pools for depth. She sighed, and the roses on her breast rose and sank, wafting an intoxicating perfume. Robert’s heart beat so quickly that he could scarcely speak. He flung himself onto the grass, and leaned against her knees.
“You have! You must! I don’t want comfort—I want you!” he whispered, incoherently. “Philippa, it’s ended between me and Cecily! She doesn’t love me now. I don’t love her. I can only think of you. Listen! Listen, darling, I can’t go on talking about friendship any more. I love you!” He put both arms round her, and held her—held her while at first she resisted. But only for a moment. She grew suddenly, rigidly, still.
He threw back his head, still holding her, to look into her face. She was pale, but she gazed at him mysteriously, with a sort of religious ardor.
“Speak to me, Philippa!” he begged.
“Is it really, really so, Fergus?” she whispered. “The great love? the perfect union?”
“You know I love you,” he said, beginning to realize that this was surrender, but that Philippa must do it in her own way.
“I think it would be right for us, Fergus. I feel it would be right!” she added, with the conviction of a mystic who has received a sign from Heaven. “Conventions, laws—they are for little people. Great love is its own justification.”