One night Miss Wilkinson suggested that it would be
delightful if she could exchange her situation in Berlin for one in
London. Then they could see one another constantly. Philip said it would
be very jolly, but the prospect aroused no enthusiasm in him; he was
looking forward to a wonderful life in London, and he preferred not to be
hampered. He spoke a little too freely of all he meant to do, and allowed
Miss Wilkinson to see that already he was longing to be off.
"You wouldn't talk like that if you loved me," she cried.
He was taken aback and remained silent.
"What a fool I've been," she muttered.
To his surprise he saw that she was crying. He had a tender heart, and
hated to see anyone miserable.
"Oh, I'm awfully sorry. What have I done? Don't cry."
"Oh, Philip, don't leave me. You don't know what you mean to me. I have
such a wretched life, and you've made me so happy."
He kissed her silently. There really was anguish in her tone, and he was
frightened. It had never occurred to him that she meant what she said
quite, quite seriously.
"I'm awfully sorry. You know I'm frightfully fond of you. I wish you would
come to London."
"You know I can't. Places are almost impossible to get, and I hate English
life."
Almost unconscious that he was acting a part, moved by her distress, he
pressed her more and more.
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