WHITEWASH
Conway. The pang of his announced determination to depart had passed away, leaving her once more her old calculating self.
But he wouldn't go. She should manage that. Of course he must leave sooner or later, but later—much later.
He took her hand and held it. She did not resist, but turned her blue eyes on his.
"I often wonder," she said, softly, "whether it would have been better had we never met."
He entered a vigorous protest. "No. This meeting is, and always will be, the crown of my life, the jewel in my heart. Whatever the cost, it cannot cost too much."
A long silence ensued in which the hansom jangled gaily through the dim poem of the twilight, punctuated at intervals by the staring lamps of the driveway or the passing flash of carriage lights.
"Will you do me a great favor?" he asked, suddenly. "Dine with me to-night. You can manage it; I know you can, you are so clever."
Philippa jumped. "Suppose we should be seen?"
