"To Norway!" cried Neville. "Has she gone _there_? At this season--"

He broke off, for at that moment Britta entered, looking the picture of
misery. Her face was pale and drawn--her eyelids red and swollen, and
when she saw Sir Philip, she gave him a glance of the most despairing
reproach and indignation. He sprang up to her.

"Any news?" he demanded.

Britta shook her head mournfully, the tears beginning to roll again down
her cheeks.

"Oh, if I'd only thought!" she sobbed, "if I'd only known what the dear
Froeken meant to do when she said good-bye to me last night, I could have
prevented her going--I could--I would have told her all I know--and she
would have stayed to see you! Oh, Sir Philip, if you had only been here,
that wicked, wicked Lady Winsleigh _couldn't_ have driven her away!"

At this name such a fury filled Philip's heart that he could barely
control himself. He breathed quickly and heavily.

"What of her?" he demanded in a low, suffocated voice. "What has Lady
Winsleigh to do with it, Britta?"

"Everything!" cried Britta, though, as she glanced at his set, stern
face and paling lips, she began to feel a little frightened. "She has
always hated the Froeken, and been jealous of her--always! Her own maid,
Louise, will tell you so--Lord Winsleigh's man, Briggs, will tell you
so! They've listened at the doors, and they know all about it!" Britta
made this statement with the most childlike candor. "And they've heard
all sorts of wicked things--Lady Winsleigh was always talking to Sir
Francis Lennox about the Froeken,--and now they've made her believe you
do not care for her any more--they've been trying to make her believe
everything bad of you for ever so many months--" she paused, terrified
at Sir Philip's increasing pallor.

"Go on, Britta," he said quietly, though his voice sounded strange to
himself. Britta gathered up all her remaining stock of courage.

"Oh dear, oh dear!" she continued desperately, "I _don't_ understand
London people at all, and I never shall understand them. Everybody seems
to want to be wicked! Briggs says that Lady Winsleigh was fond of _you_,
Sir Philip,--then, that she was fond of Sir Francis Lennox,--and yet she
has a husband of her own all the time! It is so very strange!" And the
little maiden's perplexity appeared to border on distraction. "They
would think such a woman quite mad in Norway! But what is worse than
anything is that you--you, Sir Philip,--oh! I _won