"
"It will not come to that, I trust," said Phillipa, earnestly, and
with every appearance of good faith.
"Not if you will help me, as I know you will."
Mrs. Purling was resolved now to issue positive orders for Harold to
marry Miss Fanshawe--out of hand. But next day Phillipa suddenly
announced her intention of returning to town.
"You promised to stay at least a month." The heiress was in tears.
"I am heartily sorry; but Caecilia--Lady Gayfeather--is ill and alone.
I must go to her at once."
"You have a feeling heart, Phillipa. This is a sacred duty; I cannot
object. But I shall see you again?"
"As soon as I can return, dear Mrs. Purling--if you will have me, that
is to say."
The story of Lady Gayfeather's illness was a mere fabrication. What
summoned Phillipa to London was this note:
"I _must_ see you. Can you be at Caecilia's on Saturday?--G."
Phillipa sat alone in Lady Gayfeather's drawing-room, when Mr.
Jillingham was announced.
"What does this mean?" she asked.
"I'm broke, simply."
"You don't look much like it."
To say the truth, he did not; he never did. He had had his ups and
downs; but if he was down he hid away in outer darkness; if you saw
him at all, he was floating like a jaunty cork on the very top of the
wave. He was a marvel to everyone; it was a mystery how he lasted so
long.
Pages:
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440