"What nonsense! it is all in your imagination, my dear child."
"No, it is not," said Dora, with great emphasis; "a woman's intuition is often a safer guide than her eyes."
"Your intuition, then, for once is wrong."
"Come, come," said Dora tenderly, "tell me, have you any troubles, any little worry?"
"No, dear, none," said Philip, frowning a little. "Let me get on with my work, and don't ask silly questions."
"Oh, very well," said Dora, pouting.
She rose, and went away from the easel a few steps; but noticing that Philip was looking at her, as if to ask her forgiveness for having been a trifle abrupt, she turned her steps towards him, and, laying her head on his shoulder, burst into tears; then looking him in the face, with eyes that were smiling through the tears, she cried, "Oh, do tell me what ails you."
"What a child you are, dearest! I assure you, there is nothing the matter."
"I know better."
"You will have to believe me," said Philip, in a not very convincing tone, but doing his best to comfort her with his look, "when I tell you, that there is absolutely nothing wrong, although"—