“Ella, Ella,” she whispered, “I also am a woman.  Oh, my dearest!  I think that I can understand something of your heart.  I know a little.  Oh, Ella, Ella!  I would do anything in the world to help you—­anything—­anything!”

“Would you?” cried the woman.  “Would you do anything?  Would you give up Herbert Courtland in order to help me?”

She had grasped Phyllis by the wrists and had bent her own head forward until her face was within an inch of Phyllis’.  Their breaths mingled.  Their faces were too close to admit of either of them seeing the expression that was in the eyes of the other.

“Dearest Ella, you will not break my heart!” said the girl piteously.

“Will you give him up for your love of me?” the woman cried again, and Phyllis felt her hands tighten upon her wrists.

“I will forget that you have said such words,” said the girl.

The woman flung away her hands after retaining them for a few moments in silence, and then throwing herself back in her chair, laughed loud and long.

Phyllis rose to her feet.

“You poor dear!” cried Ella.  “It was a shame—­a shame to play such a jest upon you!  But I felt in a tragic mood, and the line between comedy and tragedy is a very fine one.  Forgive my little freak, dear; and let us be human beings once more, living in a world that cannot be taken so seriously.  Don’t go by the evening train, Phyllis; stay all night with me.  I have so much to say to you.  I want to talk to you.  How can you leave me here all alone?”

Phyllis could have told her that how she could leave her all alone was because Herbert Courtland had left for London on the previous day.  She did not make an explanation to her on this basis, however; she merely said that it would interfere with her plans to remain longer at The Moorings.  She had to attend that great function with her father that night.

Ella called her very unkind, but showed no desire to revert to the topic upon which they had been conversing, when she had thought fit to ask her that jocular question which Phyllis had said she would forget.

But Phyllis did not keep her word.  On the contrary she thought of nothing else but that question all the time she was in the railway carriage going to Paddington.

It was a terrible question in Phyllis’ eyes for a woman with a husband to put to her girl-friend.

More than once during the week Phyllis had been led to ask herself if she was quite certain that her terrible surmise regarding the influence which dominated Ella’s recent actions was true.  Now and again she felt an impulse to fall upon her knees and pray, as she had once before prayed, that the sin of that horrible suspicion might be forgiven her.  How could it be possible, she thought, that Ella should forget all that a true woman should ever remember!

But now—­now, as she sat in the train on her way back to London, there was no room left in her mind for doubt on this matter.  The tragic earnestness with which Ella had asked her that question, tightening her fingers upon her wrists? “Will you give up Herbert Courtland in order to help me?”—­the passionate whisper, the quivering lips—­all told her with overwhelming force that what she had surmised was the truth.