"No," returned he; "it was so remarkably unpleasant, Madaline, I could not wish for a repetition;" and then they went back to the house together.
"Norman," said Madaline, as they stood before the great Gothic porch, "will you wait until to-morrow before you tell the duchess?"
"No," he laughed, "I shall tell her this very day."
Chapter XXII.
It was almost noon before Lord Arleigh saw Philippa, and then it struck him that she was not looking well. She seemed to have lost some of her brilliant color, and he fancied she was thinner than she used to be. She had sent for him to her boudoir.
"I heard that you were inquiring for me, Norman," she said. "Had you any especial reason for so doing?"
"Yes," he replied, "I have a most important reason. But you are not looking so bright as usual, Philippa. Are you not well?"
"The weather is too warm for one to look bright," she said, "much sunshine always tires me. Sit down here, Norman; my room looks cool enough, does it not?"
In its way her room was a triumph of art; the hangings were of pale amber and white--there was a miniature fountain cooling the air with its spray, choice flowers emitting sweet perfume. The fair young duchess was resting on a couch of amber satin; she held a richly-jeweled fan in her hands, which she used occasionally. She looked very charming in her dress of light material, her dark hair carelessly but artistically arranged. Still there was something about her unlike herself; her lips were pale, and her eyes had in them a strange, wistful expression. Norman took his seat near the little conch.
"I have come to make a confession, Philippa," he began.