Part 29 (2/2)
The pallor of the d.u.c.h.ess' face deepened.
”Are you faint or ill, Philippa?” he asked, wondering at her strange appearance.
”No,” she replied, ”it is only the heat that affects me. Go on with your story, Norman; it interests me.”
”That is like my dear old friend Philippa. I thought a marriage from here would not do--it would entail publicity and remark; that none of us would care for--besides, there could hardly be a marriage under your auspices during the absence of the duke.”
”No, it would hardly be _en regle_,” she agreed.
”But,” continued Norman, ”if Lady Peters would befriend me--if she would go away to some quiet sea-side place, and take Madaline with her--then, at the end of a fortnight, I might join them there, and we could be married, with every due observance of conventionality, but without calling undue public attention to the ceremony. Do you not think that a good plan, Philippa?”
”Yes,” she said slowly.
”Look interested in it, or you will mar my happiness. Why, if it were your marriage, Philippa, I should consider every detail of high importance. Do not look cold or indifferent about it.”
She roused herself with a shudder.
”I am neither cold nor indifferent,” she said--”on the contrary I am vitally interested. You wish me, of course, to ask Lady Peters if she will do this?”
”Yep, because I know she will refuse you nothing.”
”Then that is settled,” said the d.u.c.h.ess. ”There is a pretty, quiet little watering-place called St. Mildred's--I remember hearing Vere speak of it last year--which would meet your wishes, I think, if Lady Peters and Madaline consent.”
”I am sure they will consent,” put in Lord Arleigh hopefully.
”There is another thing to be thought of,” said the d.u.c.h.ess--”a _trousseau_ for the fair young bride.”
”Yes, I know. She will have every fancy gratified after our marriage, but there will not be time for much preparations before it.”
”Let me be fairy G.o.dmother,” said the d.u.c.h.ess. ”In three weeks from to-day I engage to have such a _trousseau_ as has rarely been seen. You can add dresses and ornaments to it afterward.”
”You are very good. Do you know,” he said, ”that it is only now that I begin to recognize my old friend? At first you seemed so unsympathetic, so cold--now you are my sister Philippa the sharer of my joys and sorrows. We had no secrets when we were children.”
”No,” she agreed, mournfully, ”none.”
”And we have none now,” he said, with a happy laugh. ”How astonished Vere will be when he returns and finds that Madaline is married! And I think that, if it can be all arranged without any great blow to his family pride, he will not be ill-pleased.”
”I should think not,” she returned, listlessly.
”And you, Philippa--you will extend to my beloved wife the friends.h.i.+p and affection that you have given to me?”
”Yes,” she replied, absently.
”Continue to be her fairy-G.o.dmother. There is no friend who can do as you can do. You will be Madaline's sheet-anchor and great hope.”
She turned away with a shudder.
”Philippa,” he continued, ”will you let me send Lady Peters to you now, that I may know as soon as possible whether she consents?”
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