That I believe you
know already."
Philippa was curiously afraid. She looked towards the door as
though with some vague hope of escape. She realised that the
necessity for decision had arrived.
"Philippa," he went on, "do you see what this is?"
He handed her two folded slips of paper. She started. At the top
of one she recognised a small photograph of herself.
"What are they?" she asked. "What does it mean?"
"They are passports for America," he told her.
"For--for me?" she faltered.
"For you and me."
They slipped from her fingers. He picked them up from the carpet.
Her face was hidden for a moment in her hands.
"I know so well how you are feeling," he said humbly. "I know how
terrible a shock this must seem to you when it comes so near. You
are so different from the other women who might do this thing. It
is so much harder for you than for them."
She lifted her head. There was still something of the look of a
scared child in her face.
"Don't imagine me better than I am," she begged. "I am not really
different from any other woman, only it is the first time this sort
of thing has ever come into my life."
"I know. You see," he went on, a little wistfully, "you have not
taken me, as yet, very far into your confidence, Philippa. You
know that I love you as a man loves only once.
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