And she might have modified her opinion of his coldness had she seen the manner of his meeting with Iris.
Visiting the sick is one of the Christian virtues, so Philip visited Coke.

Iris had just finished writing a letter, partly dictated, and much altered in style, to Mrs.James Coke, Sea View, Ocean Road, Birkenhead, when a gentle tap brought her to the door.

She opened it.
Her wrist was seized, and she was drawn into the corridor.

She had no option in the matter.

The tall young man who held her wrist proceeded to squeeze the breath out of her, but she was growing so accustomed to deeds of violence that she did not even scream.
"There is a British chaplain at Pernambuco," was Philip's incoherent remark.
"I must ask my uncle," she gasped.
"No.