Lippa | Page 7

alone,' says he.
'I thought you always had some one worshipping at your shrine.'
'Indeed, you are much mistaken,' replies she laughing, 'but I didn't
know you were in London--'
'I only came back this morning--'
'Mabel and Lady Dadford are in there,' interrupts Philippa indifferently,
pointing to the front room.
'Well, unless I am disturbing you, I will remain here,' says Paul, 'there

are some letters I must write,' and going to the table he proceeds to hunt
for paper and pens; Lippa goes on reading her book, and a silence of a
few minutes ensues.
Then he says, 'What wretched pens you do keep--'
'Yes,' replies she, 'they are rather bad, but I think you will find some
others in the right hand drawer--have you ever read this?' holding up
her volume.
'The "Epic of Hades," yes, parts of it are very fine. "There is an end of
all things that thou seest. There is an end of wrong and death and hell,"'
quotes he.
'What a melancholy passage,' says Lippa.
'A very grand one I think,' he replies, 'but I should never have thought
you would care for that kind of literature.'
'Why not?--'
'Because, well, I should have thought it would have been too deep for
you--'
'Really,' then after a pause, 'do you know that wasn't very polite--'
'Wasn't it? suppose I say then that I am agreeably surprised--'
'That's nearly as bad, if not quite, it sounds as if you expected me to
read nothing but books like the "Daisy Chain," or "Laneton
Parsonage."'
'Very excellent books too--'
'Oh, Paul! how tiresome you are, do you know I,' and then Miss Seaton
is filled with confusion, she has called him by his Christian name and
he is looking at her and smiling. 'I--er beg your pardon,' she says
quickly in her childish way.

'What for?' asks he, pretending not to understand her.
'For calling you by your Christian name--'
'Well, and what harm was there?'
'You see,' she says deprecatingly, 'Mabel is always talking about you,
and so I get into the habit of talking of you as Paul.'
Paul rises and standing in front of her says--'As I said before, where is
the harm? I have never called you anything else but Philippa, or Lippa;
I could not address you as Miss Seaton, it does not suit you one bit you
know; now let us make it a compact from henceforth, I call you Lippa,
and you call me Paul.'
'Very well,' replies she.
'What ever are you two doing here,' and the curtain is hastily drawn
aside by Mabel. 'You look as grave as judges, come and have some
strawberries and cream, Lady Dadford has gone.'
At the sound of strawberries, Lippa hastily rises, and they go into the
front room, where Jimmy Dalrymple is.
'How do you do,' says Philippa, wondering how long he has been there.
And then they attack the strawberries.
'I'm longing to know what you two were talking about,' says Mabel.
Paul laughs and replies, 'We were settling a very weighty matter,
weren't we, Lippa?'
Philippa merely says 'Yes,' and longs to turn the conversation, for what
may not Jimmy think.
In truth he feels an unaccountable overwhelming desire to know what
the weighty matter was, but he is not to know, and therefore is kept on
tenter hooks for some time.

'She came to ask us all to a cattle show and ball,' Mrs Seaton is saying.
'Who?' asks her brother.
'Lady Dadford; she particularly wants you.'
'I feel highly honoured, I'm sure--'
'Are you going?' says Lippa, turning to Dalrymple.
'I was asked, but I don't know whether I shall be able to get away,' he
replies, still pondering over the 'weighty matter.'
'Only a few minutes ago you were telling Lady Dadford how pleased
you would be to go, Mr Dalrymple; I did not know you were such a
humbug,' cries Mabel.
Jimmy laughs.
'Mrs Boothly,' announces the servant. Philippa retires to the back
drawing-room and Dalrymple follows her. 'I have not seen you for
ages,' says he.
'Only a week, I think,' replies Lippa.
'Isn't that seven whole long days?'
'Short I call them, but what have you been doing?'
'Duty.'
'Oh!'
Then after a pause he says, 'I can't make up my mind about the
Dadfords, shall I go?'
Lippa feels naughty. 'What difference could it make to me whether you
went or not?' she says.

'None, I suppose,' replies he sadly.
'None whatever,' she repeats, 'unless perhaps you make yourself very
disagreeable, then I must say I would rather you stayed away.'
'But,' says he, his face brightening, 'suppose I make myself very
agreeable, what then?'
'Could you?' she asks coquettishly.
'Miss Seaton,' protests he, 'how cruel you can be.'
But she appears deaf, and