Mowbray was a young man of twenty-five or six, with a high pale forehead, dark eyes full of thoughtful intelligence; and his dress was rather that of a student than a man of the world. It was plain and simple, and all the colors were subdued. He was a man for a woman to listen to, rather than laugh with. His manner was calm, perfectly self-possessed, and his mind seemed to be dwelling upon one dominant idea.
"Good morning, sir," said Philippa, inclining her head indifferently; "we have a very pleasant day."
Mowbray rose and bowed calmly.
"Yes, madam," he said; "my ride was quite agreeable."
"None, except a confirmation of those designs of the ministry which are now causing so much discussion."
"What designs?"
A faint smile passed over Mowbray's calm face.
"Are you quite sure that politics will amuse you?" he said.
"Amuse? no, sir. But you seem to have fallen into the fashionable error, that ladies only require amusement."