"And truth is this to me, and that to thee."--Idylls of the King.
"One that would neither misreport nor lie Not to gain paradise."--Queen Mary. TENNYSON Philippa was sensible of a certain relief when the post brought no reply to her letter to Marion. To say that she was dreading her friend's answer would be over-stating the case, for the girl's present frame of mind was far too exalted, too ecstatic, to admit of anything so sobering as dread; but she could not help knowing that Marion would entirely fail to understand her actions or the motives which prompted them, and would be mystified and unhappy about her.
She had not the happy faculty which some people have of putting their thoughts on paper, lucidly and clearly, and the letter had not been an easy one to write. She had honestly tried to be frank, but when it came to writing of her love, words seemed so bald, so inadequate, that after several efforts she had given it up in despair, and merely stated simple facts. And yet she would have liked Marion to know all. It would have added to her happiness to have known that her friend sympathised and shared in it.
She never for a moment considered the possibility of an answer in person, and she was, in consequence, taken entirely by surprise when, on the afternoon of the next day, Mrs. Heathcote walked into the hall where she was sitting.
Philippa sprang to her feet. "Oh," she cried, "I never thought you would be able to come. How delightful!"
Marion returned her kiss warmly. "I felt I must see you," she said affectionately, "and I was able to leave Dickie for a little while."
"How is he?"
"Getting gradually stronger."
"Is your husband here?"
"No, he stopped with the boy; we could not both come away. I can only stay a short time. Will you come into the morning-room and let us have a talk there, where we shall be undisturbed?"
"You got my letter?" asked Philippa.
"Yes, that is why I came," answered Marion gravely. "Will you tell me all about it, dear?"
For answer Philippa flung her arms about her and held her close. There was something so comforting, so dear about Marion, that at the sight of her a flood of recollection flashed through the girl's mind of unnumbered kindnesses and loving counsel in the old days, a thousand links in the chain which bound them in friendship, and yet--now--how was she to make her understand?
Marion, with all the genius for loving-kindness which she undoubtedly possessed, held certain rigid and unwavering opinions. They were a part of her; without them she would not have been Marion--the Marion Philippa loved--and it was just her perfectly sane, normal outlook on life which made the stumbling-block, for it was not easy to her to take another person's point of view, or look, as it were, through another person's eyes.