The dinner-party was a success, as was every kind of entertainment with which Philippa L'Estrange was concerned. When the visitors rose to take their leave, Norman rose also. She was standing near him.
"Do not go yet, Norman," she said; "it is quite early. Stay, and I will sing to you."
She spoke in so low a tone of voice that no one else heard her. He was quite willing. Where could he feel more at home than in this charming drawing-room, with this beautiful girl, his old friend and playmate?
She bade adieu to her visitors, and then turned to him with such a smile as might have lost or won Troy.
"I thought they would never go," she said; "and it seems to me that I have barely exchanged one word with you yet, Norman."
"We have talked many hours," he returned, laughing.
"Ah, you count time by the old fashion, hours and minutes. I forget it when I am talking to one I--to an old friend like you."
"You are enthusiastic," said Lord Arleigh, wondering at the light on the splendid face.
"Nay, I am constant," she rejoined.
And for a few minutes after that silence reigned between them. Philippa was the first to break it.