“I think you ought to go, Nigel,” she murmured, caressingly. “Yes, dear, please, I wish it. You have been talking to me too long.”
Nevern was restive. “Why?” he whispered. “Why shouldn’t every one know? I’m so tired of all this——”
“I do so want to keep our exquisite secret a little longer,” she interrupted, hurriedly. “It’s always a profanation when it is shared by the vulgar world. Besides, you promised, Nigel!”
He drew himself up with a sigh. “Yes, I know. But how long is it to go on like this?”
She smiled at him. “Be patient a little longer. Now let’s go into the room, then I’ll stop and speak to some one I know, and you can leave me.”
“When may I come?” urged Nevern in the same low tone as she rose.
“I don’t know. I’ll write,” she told him, hurriedly, with Robert’s eyes upon her.
They took the few steps towards the drawing-room together, and taking care to make her dismissal of Nevern as casual as possible, as well as to be in full view of Robert when it was achieved, she gave both hands to Mrs. Stanley Garth, the distinguished theosophist. Philippa’s attitude, as well as her rapid glance in passing, suggested that his moment had come. Robert allowed it to pass. Five minutes later she saw him shake hands with their hostess, and overheard the beginning of his excuses for leavetaking.
“But you can’t go!” exclaimed Lady Wilmot. “All nonsense about a sick friend. I don’t believe in him. Besides, you’re not going to desert your wife?”
“Lady Luton has very kindly offered to drive her home,” said Robert. “She lives almost next door, you know.”