Could it be possible that she still remembered the childish nonsense that had passed between them—­that she considered either herself or him bound by a foolish tie that neither of them had contracted?  Could it be possible that she regarded herself as engaged to him?  The bare idea of it seemed absurd to him; he could not believe it.  Yet many little things that he could not explain to himself made him feel uncomfortable and anxious.  Could it be that she, the most beautiful and certainly the most popular woman in London, cared so much for him as to hold him by so slender a tie as their past childish nonsense?

He reproached himself for the thought, yet, do what he would, he could not drive it away.  The suspicion haunted him; it made him miserable.  If it was really so, what was he to do?

He was a gentleman, not a coxcomb.  He could not go to this fair woman and ask her if it was really true that she loved him, if she really cared for him, if she held him by a tie contracted in childhood.  He could not do it.  He had not sufficient vanity.  Why should he think that Philippa, who had some of the noblest men in England at her feet—­why should life think that she would renounce all her brilliant prospects for him?  Yet, if the mistake had really occurred—­if she really thought the childish nonsense binding—­if she really believed that he was about to make her his wife—­it was high time that she was undeceived, that she knew the truth.  And the truth was that although he had a great liking, a kindly affection for her, he was not in love with her.  He admired her beauty—­nay, he went further; he thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, the most gifted, the most graceful.  But he was not in love with her—­never would be.  She was not his type of woman, not his ideal.  If she had been his sister, he would have loved her exceedingly—­a brotherly affection was what he felt for her.

Yet how could he go to this fair woman with the ungracious words that he did not love her, and had no thought of marrying her?  His face flushed hotly at the thought—­there was something in it against which his whole manhood rose in hot rebellion Still it must be done; there must be no such shadow between them as this—­there must be no such fatal mistake.  If the report of their approaching marriage were allowed to remain much longer uncontradicted, why, then he would be in honor compelled to fulfill public expectations; and this he had no intention, no desire to do.  The only thing therefore was to speak plainly to her.

How he hated the thought!  How he loathed the idea!  It seemed to him unmanly, most ignoble—­and yet there was no help for it.  There was one gleam of comfort for him, and only one.  She was so quick, so keen, that she would be sure to understand him at once, without his entering into any long explanation.  Few words would suffice, and those words he must choose as best he could.  If it were possible, he would speak to her to-day—­the sooner the better-and then all uncertainty would be ended.  It seemed to him, as he pondered these things, that a cloud had fallen over the sunshine.  In his heart he blamed the folly of that gentle mother who had been the cause of all this anxiety.