'Philippa,' someone is saying. 'Yes; she is a dear little girl.'

'That's Mab's voice. She thinks me a dear little girl, does she,'
comments Miss Seaton.

'Poor child; she is so like what her mother was at that age. Does she
know about her?'

Lippa recognises Lady Dadford's voice, but it never enters her head that
she ought not to listen.

'No,' replies Mabel. 'You see she was such a baby at the time, and
afterwards George thought it better that she should remain under the
belief that she is dead; she is so very sensitive--'

'I daresay your husband is right,' says Lady Dadford. 'It was all very
sad. At first, you know, the doctors had hopes that her reason would
come back, but they gave it up after a year. Does your--'

But Philippa hears no more. She has listened breathlessly, her colour
coming and going--What does it all mean? Is it true, is it true? The
mother she had always thought of as long since dead, is she alive and
_mad_! Oh! 'What shall I do?' she asks herself, while her brain feels on
fire. 'Mad? Then I might go mad too! Oh, horrible thought! Jimmy, Jimmy,
what would you say if you knew? Oh, it is all cruel, cruel--' And then
Philippa sits very still and ponders over many things, till the voices
of the others laughing and talking come nearer and nearer. With an
effort she rises. 'I must not show that anything has happened, but oh!
if I must give up Jimmy,' and with a little sob she leans her head
against the wall for a moment, then stepping forward, she meets the