he fancy free, she loving him
every moment with deeper, truer, warmer love.

"I should be so glad, Norman," she said to him, "if you would give me a
few riding-lessons. I am sure I need them."

He looked at the graceful figure, at the little hands that held the
reins so deftly.

"I do not see what there is to teach you," he observed; "I have never
seen any one ride better."

"Still I should be glad of some little instruction from you," she said.
"I always liked riding with you, Norman."

"I shall be only too pleased to ride with you every day when I am in
town," he told her; and, though he spoke kindly, with smiling lips,
there was no warmth of love in his tone.

The day was very warm--the sun had in it all the heat of June. When they
reached Verdun House, Philippa said:

"You will come in for a short time, Norman? You look warm and tired.
Williams--the butler--is famous for his claret-cup."

He murmured something about being not fatigued, but disinclined for
conversation.

"You will not see any one," she said; "you shall come to my own
particular little room, where no one dares enter, and we will have a
quiet conversation there."

It seemed quite useless to resist her. She had a true siren power of
fascination. The next minute saw him seated in the cool, shady
_boudoir_, where the mellow light came in, rose-filtered through the
silken blinds, and the perfumed air was sweet. Lady Peters, full of
solicitude, was there, with the iced claret cup, thinking he was tired
and-warm. It was so like home that he could not help feeling happy.

Presently Lady Peters retired for a few minutes, and in came Philippa.
She had changed her riding-costume for a white silk _neglige_ that fell
round her in loose, graceful folds. She wore no flowers, jewels, or
ribbons, but the dark masses of her hair were unfastened, and hung round
the white neck; there was a warm, bright flush on her face, with the
least touch of languor in her manner. She threw herself back in her
lounging chair, saying, with a dreamy smile:

"You see that I make no stranger of you, Norman."

From beneath the white silken folds peeped a tiny embroidered slipper; a
jeweled fan lay near her, and with it she gently stirred the perfumed
air. He watched her with admiring eyes.

"You look like a picture that I have seen, Philippa," he said.

"What picture?" she asked, with a smile.

"I cannot tell you, but I am quite sure I have seen one like you. What
pict