Warner closed the door, turned back into the hallway, and entered the little dining room. Philippa was no longer there; so he went through the house into the dark garden, where the air was sweet with the perfume of clove pinks and lilies.
She was there, a pale shape in the darkness, moving slowly among the flowers. As he came up she lifted her head and looked at him, her grey eyes still vague with memories which the place evoked.
And, after a few moments' wandering along the paths with him:
"Why are you so silent?" she asked.
"I thought perhaps I might disturb your thoughts, Philippa."
"You are always part of my thoughts. I have no thought that I would not share with you.... But—you have never understood that."
"I understand you, Philippa."
"Do you?"
"Yes. You are everything a woman should be; nothing a woman should not be. That is my understanding of you."
She shook her head gently: