"Are you faint or ill, Philippa?" he asked, wondering at her strange appearance.
"No," she replied, "it is only the heat that affects me. Go on with your story, Norman; it interests me."
"That is like my dear old friend Philippa. I thought a marriage from here would not do--it would entail publicity and remark; that none of us would care for--besides, there could hardly be a marriage under your auspices during the absence of the duke."
"No, it would hardly be en rêgle," she agreed.
"But," continued Norman, "if Lady Peters would befriend me--if she would go away to some quiet sea-side place, and take Madaline with her--then, at the end of a fortnight, I might join them there, and we could be married, with every due observance of conventionality, but without calling undue public attention to the ceremony. Do you not think that a good plan, Philippa?"
"Yes," she said slowly.
"Look interested in it, or you will mar my happiness. Why, if it were your marriage, Philippa, I should consider every detail of high importance. Do not look cold or indifferent about it."
She roused herself with a shudder.
"I am neither cold nor indifferent," she said--"on the contrary I am vitally interested. You wish me, of course, to ask Lady Peters if she will do this?"
"Yep, because I know she will refuse you nothing."