Philip shudders. Storm clouds are gathering overhead. This is the last day of his honeymoon.
CHAPTER IV.
LIFE IS A JEST.
A great red sun that is warm and kind sinks behind the golden trees, rich with autumnal tints, as Philip and Eleanor drive up to "Lyndhurst," on Richmond Terrace.
"So this is your home—my home?" she cries, her eyes sparkling with delight as they rest on her new abode. "Ring very loud and long, Philip; I am dying to be in!"
The door is almost immediately opened by a buxom maiden with rosy cheeks and a lenient smile, which alights on the youthful mistress. Eleanor bounds into the hall, and waves a feather boa joyfully over her head.
"Hurrah! Ancestors," she cries, saluting the old pictures on the wall with mock courtesy. "Real dead ancestors in wigs, and you never told me, Philip!"
