I should make
a sorry _Romeo_, Miss Byrton."

With a puzzled face she looked from him to Miss L'Estrange.

"You surprise me," she said, quickly. "I should have thought _Romeo_ a
character above all others to please you."

Philippa has listened with a smile--nothing had escaped her. Looking up,
she said, with a bright laugh:

"I cannot compliment you on being a good judge of character, Miss
Byrton. It may be perhaps that you have not known Lord Arleigh well
enough. But he is the last person in the world to make a good _Romeo._ I
know but one character in Shakespeare's plays that would suit him."

"And that?" interrogated Lord Arleigh.

"That," replied Philippa, "is _Petruchio_;" and amidst a general laugh
the conversation ended.

Miss Byrton was the first to take her departure. Lord Arleigh lingered
for some little time--he was still unconvinced. The wretched,
half-formed suspicion that there was something hidden beneath Philippa's
manner still pursued him; he wanted to see if she was the same to him.
There was indeed no perceptible difference. She leaned back in her
favorite chair with an air of relief, as though she were tired of
visitors.

"Now let us talk about the _fete_, Norman," she said. "You are the only
one I care to talk with about my neighbors."

So for half an hour they discussed the _fete_, the dresses, the music,
the different flirtations--Philippa in her usual bright, laughing,
half-sarcastic fashion, with the keen sense of humor that was peculiar
to her. Lord Arleigh could not see that there was any effort in her
conversation; he could not see the least shadow on her brightness; and
at heart he was thankful.

When he was going away, she asked him about riding on the morrow just as
usual. He could not see the slightest difference in her manner. That
unpleasant little conversation on the lake might never have taken place
for all the remembrance of it that seemed to trouble her. Then, when he
rose to take his leave, she held out her hand with a bright, amused
expression.

"Good-night, _Petruchio_," she said. "I am pleased at the name I have
found for you."

"I am not so sure that it is appropriate," he rejoined. "I think on the
whole I would rather love a _Juliet_ than tame a shrew."

"It may be in the book of fate that you will do both," she observed; and
they parted, laughing at the idea.

To the last the light shone in her eyes, and the scarlet lips were
wreathed in smiles; but, when t