There could not be anything
in the letter affecting her. Still, as Philippa had written so
pointedly, it would be better perhaps for him to heed her words.
"Madaline, my darling," he said, sinking on to an ottoman, "you have
taken no tea. You would like some. Leave me here alone for half an hour.
I want to think."
She did what she had never done voluntarily before. She went up to him,
and clasped her arms round his neck. She bent her blushing face over
his, and the caress surprised as much as it delighted him--she was so
shyly demonstrative.
"What are you going to think about, Norman? Will it be of me?"
"Of whom else should I think on my wedding-day, if not of my wife?" he
asked.
"I should be jealous if your thoughts went anywhere else," replied
Madaline. "There is a daring speech, Norman. I never thought I should
make such a one."
"Your daring is very delightful, Madaline; let me hear more of it."
She laughed the low, happy, contented laugh that sounded like sweetest
music in his ears.
"I will dare to say something else, Norman, if you will promise not to
think it uncalled for.
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