The day passes off very pleasantly, nothing has been forgotten with regard to the luncheon, and the weather is lovely, there is just enough wind to rustle through the trees and prevent the air from being sultry, the spot chosen for the repast is at the top of a hill which is covered with fir trees and tall green bracken, innumerable paths lead up and down and all round it, and at the summit a clearing has been made, and a small picturesque cottage has been built, with small diamond paned windows and a balcony running round two sides; the inmates, an old man and woman, who can provide water, are profuse in their greetings begging the company to sit in the balcony, and Lippa tired and sleepy with last night's exertion excuses herself from the members of the party who set out for a ramble, and takes advantage of the balcony and gives herself up to sleep: more than once a little smile hovers round her lips, and Dalrymple who has turned back under pretext of renewed headache, watches her for some time, then fearing to awake her, lights a cigar and strolls away. What a great deal of trouble and misunderstanding he could have prevented in awaking her,—but how could he tell.
Sometime later Philippa with a sigh of content opens her eyes, she is still too sleepy to think of moving, so she remains quite still, presently the sound of voices breaks upon her ears, but she does not heed them. 'Oh—how—comfortable I am,' she thinks and is just dropping off to sleep again when she hears her name spoken!
'Philippa,' someone is saying. 'Yes; she is a dear little girl.'
'That's Mab's voice. She thinks me a dear little girl, does she,' comments Miss Seaton.
'Poor child; she is so like what her mother was at that age. Does she know about her?'
Lippa recognises Lady Dadford's voice, but it never enters her head that she ought not to listen.
'No,' replies Mabel. 'You see she was such a baby at the time, and afterwards George thought it better that she should remain under the belief that she is dead; she is so very sensitive—'
'I daresay your husband is right,' says Lady Dadford. 'It was all very sad. At first, you know, the doctors had hopes that her reason would come back, but they gave it up after a year. Does your—'
But Philippa hears no more. She has listened breathlessly, her colour coming and going—What does it all mean? Is it true, is it true? The mother she had always thought of as long since dead, is she alive and mad! Oh! 'What shall I do?' she asks herself, while her brain feels on fire. 'Mad? Then I might go mad too! Oh, horrible thought! Jimmy, Jimmy, what would you say if you knew? Oh, it is all cruel, cruel—' And then Philippa sits very still and ponders over many things, till the voices of the others laughing and talking come nearer and nearer. With an effort she rises. 'I must not show that anything has happened, but oh! if I must give up Jimmy,' and with a little sob she leans her head against the wall for a moment, then stepping forward, she meets the others.
'Are you rested?' asks Lord Helmdon. 'I do believe you have been asleep, what!'