“Well, if the fancy does pass, let me know.”  After all, he could say what he wanted.

“Oh, you shall know quick enough—­”

“But before you retire to Sawston—­are you so mighty sure?”

“What of?” She had stopped crying.  He was treating her exactly as she had hoped.

“That you and he—­” He smiled bitterly at the thought of them together.  Here was the cruel antique malice of the gods, such as they once sent forth against Pasiphae.  Centuries of aspiration and culture—­and the world could not escape it.  “I was going to say—­whatever have you got in common?”

“Nothing except the times we have seen each other.”  Again her face was crimson.  He turned his own face away.

“Which—­which times?”

“The time I thought you weak and heedless, and went instead of you to get the baby.  That began it, as far as I know the beginning.  Or it may have begun when you took us to the theatre, and I saw him mixed up with music and light.  But didn’t understand till the morning.  Then you opened the door—­and I knew why I had been so happy.  Afterwards, in the church, I prayed for us all; not for anything new, but that we might just be as we were—­he with the child he loved, you and I and Harriet safe out of the place—­and that I might never see him or speak to him again.  I could have pulled through then—­the thing was only coming near, like a wreath of smoke; it hadn’t wrapped me round.”

“But through my fault,” said Philip solemnly, “he is parted from the child he loves.  And because my life was in danger you came and saw him and spoke to him again.”  For the thing was even greater than she imagined.  Nobody but himself would ever see round it now.  And to see round it he was standing at an immense distance.  He could even be glad that she had once held the beloved in her arms.

“Don’t talk of ‘faults.’  You’re my friend for ever, Mr. Herriton, I think.  Only don’t be charitable and shift or take the blame.  Get over supposing I’m refined.  That’s what puzzles you.  Get over that.”

As he spoke she seemed to be transfigured, and to have indeed no part with refinement or unrefinement any longer.  Out of this wreck there was revealed to him something indestructible—­something which she, who had given it, could never take away.

“I say again, don’t be charitable.  If he had asked me, I might have given myself body and soul.  That would have been the end of my rescue party.  But all through he took me for a superior being—­a goddess.  I who was worshipping every inch of him, and every word he spoke.  And that saved me.”

Philip’s eyes were fixed on the Campanile of Airolo.  But he saw instead the fair myth of Endymion.  This woman was a goddess to the end.  For her no love could be degrading:  she stood outside all degradation.  This episode, which she thought so sordid, and which was so tragic for him, remained supremely beautiful.  To such a height was he lifted, that without regret he could now have told her that he was her worshipper too.  But what was the use of telling her?  For all the wonderful things had happened.