really cannot stay and
talk to you to-night, and you, child, you look knocked up, go to bed at
once.'

'Good-night,' replies Lippa, and having dispensed with the services of
her maid she seems to have no intention of seeking her downy couch, she
envelopes herself in a loose wrapper and drawing an armchair up to the
window, appears to be contemplating the moon, but her thoughts are far
far away from it.

Poor little Miss Seaton, a great battle is going on within her; she will
let no one know what she has overheard this afternoon, unless she
explains all to Dalrymple and lets him decide as to what ... but no,
she will just tell him it is impossible for her to marry him, ten to one
if he knew all he would laugh at her fears, and marrying her, would in a
few years have to consign his wife to a lunatic asylum; it will be the
right thing not to let him have a chance of marrying her; and coming to
this conclusion, she tries to forget the man she loves, and her heart is
filled with compassion for her mother, and then she remembers Ponsonby's
life story. 'How strange,' she murmurs, 'in one day to have learnt all
this; but oh, how shall I tell Jimmy, and he will think I love somebody
else, but I must do the right thing, I must and I will.'

The clock strikes one as she rises with a little shiver, and is soon in
bed, but it is sometime before her eyes close, and even after she is
asleep sobs check her breathing. Dear, good little heart it is always
hardest to do what _seems_ right, and it seems too, as if it will never
be rewarded, but surely, surely it is in the end....

Drip, drip, drip, is what Dalrymple hears as soon as he wakes. 'Wet,' he
says to himself turning round, 'no good getting up yet, Philippa is sure
not to.' For ten minutes he dozes, and then with two or three loud yawns
he pulls himself together, and at length attired in a faultless suit he
opens his door. It is still what he calls early, (being half-past eight)
and he meets no one as he descends. Whistling gaily, he opens the door
of the drawing-room, and finds Philippa there already, standing by the
window. She turns as he goes up to her, and when he is about to embrace
her she draws back.

'Good-morning,' she says, looking up at him for a moment and then gazing
steadily at the carpet; the pattern of which she remembers long
afterwards.

'Good-morning,' he replies blankly, and then thinking that perhaps she
is shy, he puts his hand on her shoulder, sayin