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 _négligé_ 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
picture would you care to resemble?"

A sudden gleam of light came into her dark eyes.

"The one underneath which you would write 'My Queen,'" she said,