you care more?"

He was perfectly calm and unembarrassed.

"No, cousin, I have not. As I told you before, I have really made no
friends abroad for whom I care much--a few pleasant acquaintances,
nothing more."

"Then I am content," she said.

But he was deaf to the passionate music of her voice. Then the distance
between them seemed to grow less. They talked of her home, Verdun Royal;
they talked of Beechgrove, and his plans for living there. Their
conversation was the intimate exchange of thought of old friends; but
there was nothing of love. If she had expected that he would avail
himself of Lady Peters' absence to speak of it, she was mistaken. He
talked of old times, of friendship, of childhood's days, of great hopes
and plans for the future--of anything but love. It seemed to be and
perhaps was the farthest from his thoughts.

"I am going to Beechgrove in a week," he said; "you will give me
permission to call and see you every day, Philippa?"

"I shall be pleased to see you--my time is yours," she answered but he
did not understand the full meaning of the words.

Then Lady Peters came in and asked if he would join them at dinner.

"Philippa likes gayety," she said; "we have never had one quiet evening
since the season began; she has a ball for to-night."