His words come shortly. He breathes hard. "I would tell you what I could not say to any other creature. It is early days, and we have begun to quarrel. She has made great friends with a frivolous widow—a woman next door—whom I warned her against from the first. I have done all in my power to stop the intimacy, but protestations only appear to strengthen it. This woman has got Eleanor entirely under her thumb, she is like soft clay in her hands. I thought I could mould my wife, who was utterly unformed, a little country farm girl. But Giddy Mounteagle has proved stronger, cleverer than I. Perhaps her method is easier to follow, perhaps I have misunderstood Eleanor from the first. Day by day she drifts farther from me, and yet, if such a thing were possible, I love her more."
He rises and leans his head on his arms over the mantel-border.
"Help me, Erminie; you might do so much."
"How?"
"Come and stay with us—use your influence with Eleanor."
Miss Henderson seems confused.
"I should be delighted. I would do anything for you, but——"
Philip looks up quickly, his eyebrows rise involuntarily.
He has never yet known a "but" from Erminie's lips, when asking her aid.
"The 'buts' of this world are its stumbling blocks."