fancies--because then he might
grow more weary still--"

"_Weary_!" interrupted Lorimer, in an accent of emphatic surprise. "Why,
you don't suppose Phil's tired of you, Thelma? That _is_ nonsense
indeed! He worships you! Who's been putting such notions into your
head?"

She rose from her chair quite calm and very pale, and laid her two
trembling hands in his.

"Ah, you also will mistake me," she said, with touching sweetness, "like
so many others who think me strange in my speech and manner. I am sorry
I am not like other women,--but I cannot help it. What I do wish you to
understand is that I never suppose anything against my Philip--he is the
noblest and best of men! And you must promise not to tell him that I was
so foolish as to cry just now because you played that old song I sang to
you both so often in Norway--it was because I felt a little sad--but it
was only a fancy,--and I would not have him troubled with such things.
Will you promise?"

"But what has made you sad?" persisted Lorimer, still puzzled.

"Nothing--nothing indeed," she answered, with almost feverish
earnestness. "You yourself are sometimes sad, and can you tell why?"

Lorimer certainly could have told why,--but he remained silent, and
gently kissed the little hands he held.

"Then I mustn't tell Philip of your sadness?" he asked softly, at last.
"But will you tell him yourself, Thelma? Depend upon it, it's much
better to have no secrets from him. The least grief of yours would
affect him more than the downfall of a kingdom. You know how dearly he
loves you!"

"Yes--I know!" she answered, and her eyes brightened slowly. "And that
is why I wish him always to see me happy!" She paused, and then added in
a lower tone, "I would rather die, my friend, than vex him for one
hour!"

George still held her hands and looked wistfully in her face. He was
about to speak again, when a cold, courteous voice interrupted them.

"Lady Errington, may I have the honor of taking you in to supper?"

It was Sir Francis Lennox. He had entered quite noiselessly--his
footsteps making no sound on the thick velvet-pile carpet, and he stood
quite close to Lorimer, who dropped Thelma's hands hastily and darted a
suspicious glance at the intruder. But Sir Francis was the very picture
of unconcerned and bland politeness, and offered Thelma his arm with the
graceful ease of an accomplished courtier. She was, perforce, compelled
to accept it--and she was slightly confu