Philippa has listened with a smile--nothing had escaped her. Looking up, she said, with a bright laugh:
"I cannot compliment you on being a good judge of character, Miss Byrton. It may be perhaps that you have not known Lord Arleigh well enough. But he is the last person in the world to make a good Romeo. I know but one character in Shakespeare's plays that would suit him."
"And that?" interrogated Lord Arleigh.
"That," replied Philippa, "is Petruchio;" and amidst a general laugh the conversation ended.
Miss Byrton was the first to take her departure. Lord Arleigh lingered for some little time--he was still unconvinced. The wretched, half-formed suspicion that there was something hidden beneath Philippa's manner still pursued him; he wanted to see if she was the same to him. There was indeed no perceptible difference. She leaned back in her favorite chair with an air of relief, as though she were tired of visitors.
"Now let us talk about the fête, Norman," she said. "You are the only one I care to talk with about my neighbors."
So for half an hour they discussed the fête, the dresses, the music, the different flirtations--Philippa in her usual bright, laughing, half-sarcastic fashion, with the keen sense of humor that was peculiar to her. Lord Arleigh could not see that there was any effort in her conversation; he could not see the least shadow on her brightness; and at heart he was thankful.
When he was going away, she asked him about riding on the morrow just as usual. He could not see the slightest difference in her manner. That unpleasant little conversation on the lake might never have taken place for all the remembrance of it that seemed to trouble her. Then, when he rose to take his leave, she held out her hand with a bright, amused expression.
"Good-night, Petruchio," she said. "I am pleased at the name I have found for you."
"I am not so sure that it is appropriate," he rejoined. "I think on the whole I would rather love a Juliet than tame a shrew."