flung a charm so magical around her that he was insensibly attracted by
it, yet he was not the least in love--nothing was further from his
thoughts. He could not help seeing that, after a fashion, she treated
him differently from her other guests. He could not have told why or
how; he felt only a certain subtle difference; her voice seemed to take
another tone in addressing him, her face another expression as though
she regarded him as one quite apart from all others.

The dinner-party was a success, as was every kind of entertainment with
which Philippa L'Estrange was concerned. When the visitors rose to take
their leave, Norman rose also. She was standing near him.

"Do not go yet, Norman," she said; "it is quite early. Stay, and I will
sing to you."

She spoke in so low a tone of voice that no one else heard her. He was
quite willing. Where could he feel more at home than in this charming
drawing-room, with this beautiful girl, his old friend and playmate?

She bade adieu to her visitors, and then turned to him with such a smile
as might have lost or won Troy.

"I thought they would never go," she said; "and it seems to me that I
have barely exchanged one word with you yet, Norman."

"We have talked many hours," he returned, laughing.

"Ah, you count time by the old fashion, hours and minutes. I forget it
when I am talking to one I--to an old friend like you."