"But," interposed Lady Peters, "it seems to me, Philippa, that this was all your mother's fancy. Because you played together as children--because, when you were a child he called you his little wife--because your mother and his were dear friends, and liked the arrangement--it does not follow that he would like it, or that he would choose the playmate of his childhood as the love of his manhood. In all that you have said to me, I see no evidence that he loves you, or that he considers himself in any way bound to you."
"That is because you do not understand. He has been in England only two days, yet, you see, he comes to visit me."
"That may be for old friendship's sake," said Lady Peters. "Oh, my darling, be careful! Do not give the love of your heart and soul for nothing."
"It is given already," confessed the girl, "and can never be recalled, no matter what I get in return. Why, it is twenty minutes past three; do you think he will come?"
Philippa L'Estrange rose from the couch and went to the long open window.
"I have never seen the sun shine so brightly before," she said; and Lady Peters sighed as she listened. "The world has never looked so beautiful as it does to-day. Oh, Norman, make, haste! I am longing to see you."
She had a quaint, pretty fashion of calling Lady Peters by the French appellation maman. She turned to her now, with a charming smile. She shook out the perfumed folds of her dress--she smoothed the fine white lace.
"You have not told me, maman," she said, "whether I am looking my best to-day. I want Norman to be a little surprised when he sees me. If you saw me for the first time to-day, would you think me nice?"
"I should think you the very queen of beauty," was the truthful answer.
A pleased smile curved the lovely, scarlet lips.