She seemed to have lost some of her
brilliant color, and he fancied she was thinner than she used to be. She
had sent for him to her _boudoir_.
"I heard that you were inquiring for me, Norman," she said. "Had you any
especial reason for so doing?"
"Yes," he replied, "I have a most important reason. But you are not
looking so bright as usual, Philippa. Are you not well?"
"The weather is too warm for one to look bright," she said, "much
sunshine always tires me. Sit down here, Norman; my room looks cool
enough, does it not?"
In its way her room was a triumph of art; the hangings were of pale
amber and white--there was a miniature fountain cooling the air with its
spray, choice flowers emitting sweet perfume. The fair young duchess was
resting on a couch of amber satin; she held a richly-jeweled fan in her
hands, which she used occasionally. She looked very charming in her
dress of light material, her dark hair carelessly but artistically
arranged. Still there was something about her unlike herself; her lips
were pale, and her eyes had in them a strange, wistful expression.
Norman took his seat near the little conch.
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