Presently Lady Peters retired for a few minutes, and in came Philippa. She had changed her riding-costume for a white silk négligé that fell round her in loose, graceful folds. She wore no flowers, jewels, or ribbons, but the dark masses of her hair were unfastened, and hung round the white neck; there was a warm, bright flush on her face, with the least touch of languor in her manner. She threw herself back in her lounging chair, saying, with a dreamy smile:
"You see that I make no stranger of you, Norman."
From beneath the white silken folds peeped a tiny embroidered slipper; a jeweled fan lay near her, and with it she gently stirred the perfumed air. He watched her with admiring eyes.
"You look like a picture that I have seen, Philippa," he said.
"What picture?" she asked, with a smile.
"I cannot tell you, but I am quite sure I have seen one like you. What picture would you care to resemble?"
A sudden gleam of light came into her dark eyes.
"The one underneath which you would write 'My Queen,'" she said, hurriedly.
He did not understand.
"I think every one with an eye to beauty would call you 'queen,'" he observed, lightly. The graver meaning of her speech had quite escaped him.