ifferent matter. I
understand the doctor has suggested to you that you should allow
Francis to remain under this mistake--that you should visit him, and to
all intents and purposes _be_ the person he takes you for. The reason
he gives me for asking this of you is, that any unhappiness or mental
disquiet would in his opinion be fatal to Francis in his present state
of weakness. The doctor also tells me that he cannot in the least tell
whether his patient will recover, even with all the care and affection
which could be given him. Now I must most earnestly point out to you
the difficulties--in fact the undesirability of your doing what has
been suggested.

"God knows I pity poor Francis with all my heart. There is nothing I
would not do to bring him a moment's happiness, but I cannot let you, a
stranger, be drawn into the affair. It is quite impossible! I am sure
that you, in your goodness of heart, would do anything in your power
for any one who was suffering, but you do not realise what it means."

He paused, and waited for Philippa to speak, but finding that she sat
silent, he continued.

"In the first place it is deception. Yes, it is," he repeated in
answer to a mutter from the doctor. "It is deception. You allow him
to believe what is not true. In plain words you act a lie. Can any
possible good come from such a course? In the second, can you do it?
Picture to yourself what it will be. You will be the affianced wife of
a man whom you do not know, and if you are to act the part in such a
way as to make it in the least realistic, you must be on more than
friendly terms with him. You must show a certain warmth of manner, to
say the least of it, in response to his demonstrations of affection.
Philippa, you can't do it! You can't! Imagine yourself in such a
position." Again he paused, and again she did not speak.

"I wish you would tell me what is in your mind. You know the whole sad
story. Can it be possible that there is some quixotic notion in your
head that it is for you to heal a wound for which one of your family
was responsible? Oh, surely not! And yet, you women are so fond of
anything like self-sacrifice that it is impossible to fathom the
motives that drive you into folly: generous, well-meant folly, but
folly all the same. You have no one here to advise you, and I beg you
to be guided by me. You are not really called upon to do this thing.
It is undesirable--it is not right."

He