“Det iss well. Trust me, and help me to do what I can for him, det iss all I ask.”
He went away, and Mansfield took Mr Forfar’s letter out of his pocket again. “This settles it!” he said, and sitting down at the table, dashed off a grateful refusal of the Prime Minister’s offer. As soon as it was finished, he went out and posted it.
Having thus burnt his boats and cut himself off from every hope of Philippa, he felt that he had done all that could be expected of him, and owed himself a reward. It is needless to say that the reward took the shape of a sight of Philippa, and when he had dutifully attended Cyril to the Queen’s house in the afternoon, he betook himself forthwith to the Caerleons’ rooms in Spyridion’s hotel, where he was able to watch Philippa pouring out tea, and to luxuriate in absolute misery. The excitement of the night before had left Philippa white and tired, and her hand shook as she lifted the teapot, but Mansfield decided that her exhaustion was due to the mental struggle she must have undergone before she could bring herself to contemplate marrying King Michael, and he steeled his heart against her. Her father attributed her obvious unhappiness to a very different cause, and when Mansfield took his leave he walked a little way with him.
“I suppose you heard nothing from Forfar by the mail, Mansfield?” he asked. “I saw him just before we left England, and he hinted that Jowell would probably go to the India Office, so that he would soon need a new assistant secretary.”
“Yes, I heard from him,” replied Mansfield, his heart beginning to beat with uncomfortable speed, “and he offered me the post. But I refused it.”
“Refused it!” cried Lord Caerleon, with unconcealed dismay.
“You see,” Mansfield went on, “I—I felt there was no particular reason why I should go back to England,” he looked straight at his companion, “and it would take a great deal to make me leave Count Mortimer in the present state of his affairs.”
“But come, Mansfield—I have a right to ask, after what you said to me early in the year—have you changed your mind?”
“How dare you——” began Mansfield furiously, then his tone altered. “I beg your pardon, I’m a sulky brute; but—well, imagine that you were in my place, Lord Caerleon, forbidden to speak to Lady Phil, and then finding that another fellow had stepped in and cut you out.”
“But he has not cut you out. We are all on your side. Phil’s only reason for taking time to consider her answer is that she may not hurt the King’s feelings. I am certain she doesn’t care a rap for him.”