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--'

'But,' he echoes, bending towards her, 'you have not changed your mind,
have you?'