“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.  Money went away from him as rain runs off the oiled surface of a shiny mackintosh coat.  And yet he had always plenty of it; eclipses he might know, but they were partial; collapse might threaten, but it was always delayed.  He had still the best dinners, the best cigars, the best brougham; was bien vu in the best society:  had the best boot-varnish in London, and wore the most curly-brimmed hats, the envy of every hatter but his own.  To all outward seeming there was no more fortunate prosperous man about town; the hard shifts to which he had been put at times were known only to himself—­and to one other man, who had caught him tripping once, and found his account in the fact.  The pressure this man excited drove Gilly Jillingham nearly to despair.  He was really on the brink of ruin at this moment, although he stood before Phillipa as reckless and defiant as when he had first won her girlish affections, and thrown them carelessly on one side.

“How can I help you?” asked Phillipa, when he had repeated his news.

“I never imagined you could; but you take such an interest in me, I thought you might like to know.”

“And you have dragged me up to London simply to tell me this?”

“Certainly.  You always took a delight in coming when I called.”

It was evident that he had a strong hold over her.  She trembled violently.

“Are these lies I hear?” he went on, speaking with mocking emphasis.  “Can it be possible you mean to marry that cub?”

“Who has been telling you this?”

“Answer my question.”

“What right have you to ask?”

“The best.  You know it.  Have you not been promised to me since—­since—­”

“Well, do you wish me to redeem my promise?  I am ready to marry you now—­to-day, if you please.  Ruined as you are, reckless, unprincipled, gambler—­I know not what—­”

“That’s as well.  But I am obliged to you; I will not trespass on your good-nature.  I shall have enough to do to keep myself.”

“We might go to a colony.”