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ably. He felt happy and generous.
‘What would you like to do tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’m going to Tulse Hill. You remember the manager-
ess at the shop, well, she’s married now, and she’s asked me
to go and spend the day with her. Of course she thinks I’m
married too.’
Philip’s heart sank.
‘But I refused an invitation so that I might spend Sunday
with you.’
He thought that if she loved him she would say that in
that case she would stay with him. He knew very well that
Norah would not have hesitated.
‘Well, you were a silly to do that. I’ve promised to go for
three weeks and more.’
‘But how can you go alone?’
‘Oh, I shall say that Emil’s away on business. Her hus-
band’s in the glove trade, and he’s a very superior fellow.’
Philip was silent, and bitter feelings passed through his
heart. She gave him a sidelong glance.
‘You don’t grudge me a little pleasure, Philip? You see, it’s
the last time I shall be able to go anywhere for I don’t know
how long, and I had promised.’
He took her hand and smiled.
‘No, darling, I want you to have the best time you can. I
only want you to be happy.’
There was a little book bound in blue paper lying open,
face downwards, on the sofa, and Philip idly took it up. It
was a twopenny novelette, and the author was Courtenay
Paget. That was the name under which Norah wrote.