What he had done belonged here, as she herself belonged here between these old-time walls and the ancient roof above. And every corridor, every room, every terrace, would be the sweeter, the fresher, for her lingering before she passed on her life's journey through an old and worn-out world.
"Philippa passes," he said, thinking aloud.
She looked up, smiled.
"Only where you lead her, shall Philippa pass," she murmured.
"It is to be the title of your portrait.... Would you care to look at it now? There is not so much more to do to it, I think...."
She came around and stood silently beside him.
"Is it you?" he asked.
"My other self.... I had not supposed you knew her—so deeply—so intimately—more intimately than I myself seem to know her."
He laughed gently.
"Heart of a child," he said, half to himself.