"After midnight? Impossible! Yet I declare my watch proves that it is. It is all the fault of the starlight, Lady Peters; you must blame that."
Lady Peters went out to them.
"I do not wonder at your lingering here," she said. "How calm and sweet the night is! It reminds me of the night in 'Romeo and Juliet.' It was on such a night Jessica--"
Philippa held up her hands in horror.
"No more poetry to-night, dear Lady Peters; we have had more than enough."
"Is that true, Lord Arleigh? Have you really had more than enough?"
"I have not found it so," he replied. "However, I must go. I wish time would sometimes stand still; all pleasant hours end so soon. Good-night, Lady Peters."
But that most discreet of chaperons had already re-entered the drawing-room--it was no part of her business to be present when the two friends said good-night.
"Good-night, Philippa," he said, in a low, gentle voice, bending over her.
The wind stirred her perfumed hair until it touched his cheek, the leaves of the crimson roses fell in a shower around her. She raised her beautiful pale face to his--the unspeakable love, the yearning sorrow on it, moved him greatly. He bent down and touched her brow with his lips.