‘Good-night,’ replies Lippa, and having dispensed with the services of her maid she seems to have no intention of seeking her downy couch, she envelopes herself in a loose wrapper and drawing an armchair up to the window, appears to be contemplating the moon, but her thoughts are far far away from it.

Poor little Miss Seaton, a great battle is going on within her; she will let no one know what she has overheard this afternoon, unless she explains all to Dalrymple and lets him decide as to what ... but no, she will just tell him it is impossible for her to marry him, ten to one if he knew all he would laugh at her fears, and marrying her, would in a few years have to consign his wife to a lunatic asylum; it will be the right thing not to let him have a chance of marrying her; and coming to this conclusion, she tries to forget the man she loves, and her heart is filled with compassion for her mother, and then she remembers Ponsonby’s life story.  ‘How strange,’ she murmurs, ’in one day to have learnt all this; but oh, how shall I tell Jimmy, and he will think I love somebody else, but I must do the right thing, I must and I will.’

The clock strikes one as she rises with a little shiver, and is soon in bed, but it is sometime before her eyes close, and even after she is asleep sobs check her breathing.  Dear, good little heart it is always hardest to do what seems right, and it seems too, as if it will never be rewarded, but surely, surely it is in the end....

Drip, drip, drip, is what Dalrymple hears as soon as he wakes.  ‘Wet,’ he says to himself turning round, ’no good getting up yet, Philippa is sure not to.’  For ten minutes he dozes, and then with two or three loud yawns he pulls himself together, and at length attired in a faultless suit he opens his door.  It is still what he calls early, (being half-past eight) and he meets no one as he descends.  Whistling gaily, he opens the door of the drawing-room, and finds Philippa there already, standing by the window.  She turns as he goes up to her, and when he is about to embrace her she draws back.

‘Good-morning,’ she says, looking up at him for a moment and then gazing steadily at the carpet; the pattern of which she remembers long afterwards.

‘Good-morning,’ he replies blankly, and then thinking that perhaps she is shy, he puts his hand on her shoulder, saying, ’Lippa, dearest, what is the matter?’ There is an amount of concern in his voice that is almost too much for her, but she has made up her mind to tell him it is impossible for her to marry him, and cost what it may she will do it.

‘Mr Dalrymple,’ she begins in a low but perfectly calm voice, ’if you remember I told you last night that I had something to say to you—­’

‘Certainly,’ he says, ’that is why I came down so early; but why have you changed so since yesterday?’

‘That is exactly it, I have changed since yesterday,’ says she, ‘I—­er—­I think I led you to imagine that I would marry you, but—­’