‘Tommy, it’s your turn next,’ says Paul, ‘I’ll accompany you!’

‘Oh, thanks awfully,’ and settling his pince-nez firmly on his very small nose, sings with an air of sweet simplicity—­’Because my mother told me so,’ which sends Chubby into shrieks of laughter.

When Philippa’s turn comes, she goes to the piano knowing that Paul is watching her, she feels he has guessed that something is up, so tries to mislead him by singing a merry song, but he is not taken in.  Helmdon produces a banjo and sings several nigger songs lustily.

‘Do you know, Chubby,’ says Tommy, ’do you know that you are just made for that kind of music, you’d do so well at the Christy Minstrels.’

‘Ah, my boy,’ replies he, ’I’m glad you’ve found an occupation for me in which I should excel, for it is more than I have done myself; but I’m afraid the sameness would bore me.  If I do anything I shall go in for music-hall singing, there one would have more scope for one’s dramatic talent.’

By degrees they all disperse, some to play billiards, others to write letters, and Philippa is left alone, seated on one of the deep window sills, a book in her hand, but her eyes are fixed on the distant horizon, where the sun has suddenly appeared from behind the clouds, and is shedding a yellow haze over the dripping trees.

So absorbed is she that she does not hear Paul come.  He goes up to where she is, and says, ‘What has happened?’

She starts and turning round replies, ‘Nothing,’ while a tell-tale blush dyes her cheeks.

‘Yes, there is,’ he persists, ‘why did Jimmy leave so suddenly?’

‘He told Lady Dadford that he must get back to the Barracks to-night,’ she replies.

‘Do you think I believe that?’ says Paul.

‘Why shouldn’t you?’

‘Now child, I know that something is wrong,’ and Paul sits down by her side, ’you told me yesterday you had promised to marry him, why has he gone away to-day; you have not already disagreed?’

‘I don’t see that you have any right to question me like this,’ she answers evasively, ’but I suppose I had better tell you that I am not going to marry Mr Dalrymple,’ she says it so firmly that Ponsonby can see that she is not joking.

‘Why not?’ he asks.

‘For many reasons,’ is the reply.  ’For one he has not much to live on, and—­there are circumstances which would make it impossible—­’

’Whew!—­may I ask if the circumstances prevent him from marrying you or you him.’

‘I think there is no occasion for me to answer you,’ replies Lippa coldly, ’and I will beg you will mention to no one what I have told you either yesterday or just now.’

‘I shall write to Dalrymple to-night,’ says he meditatively.

‘I hope you will do no such thing,’ and Miss Seaton rises hastily.  ’I think it would be extremely out of place for you to interfere in any way.’

There is a marked emphasis on the ‘you’ that makes Paul start while he bites fiercely the ends of his moustache, and Philippa walks quickly out of the room, rushes up to her own, and flinging herself on the bed gives way to tears.  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ she sobs, ’why does everything go wrong and only a little time ago I was so happy, and now I have hurt Paul’s feelings, and ...’