"It's about Philip I've come to see you," she said. "I knew that you were interested in him."
Mary admitted the interest shamelessly.
"I don't know what's happened to him. He's so changed . . . not at all the boy he used to be."
"Yes, he's very different. . . . I think maybe he's happier now."
"Oh, he's not happy. No one could be happy in his state of mind. Why, he's even abandoned God. . . . Something, some one has gotten hold of him."
The shadow of a frown crossed Mary's smooth brow. She had the air of waiting . . . waiting. . . . She said, "Perhaps I've chosen the wrong word. I mean that he seems on a more solid foundation."
"Do you call what he's doing solid?"
"If it's what he wants to do."
"He doesn't know his own mind."
"I mean he's more like the real Philip. I think he is the real Philip now."
Emma's fingers began to strum the arm of her chair nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about, but if you mean that the old Philip wasn't real, why, I think you're saying a crazy thing. It's this new one who's queer. Do you mean to insinuate that I, his own mother . . . the one who bore him . . . who gave him life, doesn't know who the real Philip is?"
It was clear that she was "working herself up." Mary did not answer her at once, but when she raised her head, it was to say, with a curious, tense quietness, "No . . . if you want the truth, Mrs. Downes, I don't think you know Philip at all. I think that's really what's the matter. You've never known him."
Emma found herself suddenly choked and speech-
