"You? What do you mean?"
She advanced to him, on tottering feet, with outstretched hands.
"Geoffrey, I am Philip Ayre!"
"You are Philip Ayre? What on earth do you mean?"
"Oh, Geoffrey, don't you understand? Philippa—Philip Ayre!"
There was a moment's pause—a pause which, probably, neither of them ever would forget.
"You—you are Philip Ayre! How dull I must have been not to have seen the pretty play upon your name before. Philippa—Philip Ayre. Of course! So you have been my rival. My wife—the mother of my children—the woman I loved better than all the world."
"Geoffrey, don't say that I have been your rival!"
"No? Not my rival? What then?"
"I did it all for you!"