Sir Henry, well inside the room, nodded to them both affably.
"Well, Philippa?
You weren't expecting me, eh?
Hullo, Lessingham! Not gone yet?
Running it a trifle fine, aren't you ?" Lessingham glanced towards the fastened door.
"Perhaps," he admitted, "a trifle too fine." Sir Henry was suddenly taken by storm.

Philippa had thrown herself into his arms.

Her fingers were locked around his neck.

Her lips, her eyes, were pleading with him.
"Henry! Henry, you must forgive me! I never knew--I never dreamed what you were really doing.

I shall never forgive myself, but you--you will be generous." "That's all right, dear," he promised, stooping down to kiss her.
"Partly my fault, of course.