Philippa tries to forget Jimmy, and wonders how he is getting on, she has yet to learn that,—­

    ’Man’s love is a thing apart,
    ‘Tis woman’s whole existence.’

Love is forgotten and put on one side, for racing, shooting, hunting, etc., and it is well that it is so, for a love-lorn youth is a decided bore.

But James Dalrymple of the Guards has been more deeply wounded than he owns to himself, his love for Miss Seaton is more than a passing fancy, that causing pain for a short time, will be laughed over in about a year.  Love Lippa, he does hopelessly, madly, and so he will till the end of the chapter.

Real true love is not a thing to be taken up and cast aside at will, like a broken toy; it may grow upon us or come suddenly, why we cannot tell, and although we hardly acknowledge to ourselves that Cupid, who has wrought so much harm as well as good in the world, has paid us a visit, yet we never feel quite the same again; maybe we are happier than we have ever been before, or else, and alas it happens to very many, that Eros’ darts have only made a wound which might almost have been caused by a poisoned arrow; ah me! the healing takes a weary long time or maybe can never heal.  Truly love is a dangerous thing.

CHAPTER IX

’I say, Mab, there’s such a delightful monkey outside, do lend me sixpence?’

Mrs Seaton looks up from a telegram she is reading and says to Philippa, ‘Never mind the monkey, I’ve just had this from George and—­’

‘Is he ill?’ inquires Lippa.

‘No, but—­’

‘Do give me the sixpence then, I will be back in a moment again.’

Mabel produces the coin, and Philippa having delivered it hurries back.  ‘He was so pleased,’ she says, ‘the dear little—­’ but her sister-in-law’s face causes her to stop and inquire hastily, ’What has happened, do tell me?’ her thoughts recurring at once to Jimmy Dalrymple.

‘Well, dear,’ says Mabel, ‘George has telegraphed to me the death of—­’

‘Who?’ asks Philippa, clutching at a chair near her.

‘No one you ever knew,’ replies Mabel, guessing the question that she would ask.

‘Ah!’ and Lippa breathes a sigh of relief, ’is it a friend of George’s or Paul’s?’ ‘wife’ she is going to say but hesitates.

‘No,’ replies Mabel, ’it is someone who has been in an asylum for many years,’ she pauses wondering how to go on when Philippa spares her the trouble by saying,

‘My mother?’

‘How did you guess?’ says Mabel, surprised.

Lippa heeds her not.  ‘Somebody I never knew,’ she murmurs to herself, ’somebody I never knew, and yet my mother; how strange.  Tell me about her,’ she adds, ‘when, did she go—­mad?’

‘I thought you knew nothing about it,’ says Mabel, ’your mother had a shock when you were two years old, which affected her brain, and of course at the time you were too young to understand and it was thought best not to tell you anything, even when you were older; but dearest, who told you of this, George and I were under the impression you knew nothing about it?’