He was
delighted with her--his heart grew warm under the charm of her words,
but he never dreamed of love.
He had said to himself that there must be no renewal of his childish
nonsense of early days--that he must be careful not to allude to it; to
do so would be in bad taste--not that he was vain enough to think she
would attach any importance to it, even if he did so; but he was one of
nature's gentlemen, and he would have scorned to exaggerate or to say
one word more than he meant. Her welcome had been most graceful, most
kind--the beautiful face had softened and changed completely for him.
She had devoted herself entirely to him; nothing in all the wide world
had seemed to her of the least interest except himself and his
affairs--books, music, pictures, even herself, her own triumphs, were as
nothing when compared with him. He would have been less than mortal not
to have been both pleased and flattered.
Pressed so earnestly to return to dinner, he had promised to do so; and
evening, the sweet-scented May evening, found him once more at Hyde
Park. If anything, Philippa looked more lovely. She wore her favorite
colors--amber and white--a dress of rich amber brocade, trimmed with
white lace; the queenly head was circled with diamonds; jewels like fire
gleamed on the white breast; there was a cluster of choice flowers in
her bodice.
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