Helen set down the glass which she had been in the act of raising to her lips.

It was her first really serious intimation of the tragedy which hovered over her future sister-in-law's life.

Somehow or other, Philippa had seemed, even to her, so far removed from that strenuous world of over-drugged, over-excited feminine decadence, to whom the changing of a husband or a lover is merely an incident in the day's excitements.

Philippa, with her frail and almost flowerlike beauty, her love of the wholesome ways of life, and her strong affections, represented other things.

Now, for the first time, Helen was really afraid, afraid for her friend.
"But you couldn't ever--you wouldn't leave Henry!" Philippa seemed to find nothing monstrous in the idea.
"That is just what I am seriously thinking of doing," she confided.
Helen affected to laugh, but her mirth was obviously forced.