But Philippa hears no more. She has listened breathlessly, her colour coming and going--What does it all mean? Is it true, is it true? The mother she had always thought of as long since dead, is she alive and _mad_! Oh! 'What shall I do?' she asks herself, while her brain feels on fire. 'Mad? Then I might go mad too! Oh, horrible thought! Jimmy, Jimmy, what would you say if you knew? Oh, it is all cruel, cruel--' And then Philippa sits very still and ponders over many things, till the voices of the others laughing and talking come nearer and nearer. With an effort she rises. 'I must not show that anything has happened, but oh! if I must give up Jimmy,' and with a little sob she leans her head against the wall for a moment, then stepping forward, she meets the others. 'Are you rested?' asks Lord Helmdon. 'I do believe you have been asleep, what!' 'Yes,' replies Lippa. 'I have been fast asleep--' 'Dreaming,' suggests Miss Appleby, a young lady given to sentiment. 'Of me, I hope,' puts in Chubby. 'Now, why _you_ of all people, I should like to know,' says Dalrymple, at which they all laugh. CHAPTER VII Lippa is strangely silent on the way home and all the evening she avoids being alone with Dalrymple, but Jimmy gets uneasy and on saying Good-night adds in a low tone, 'Come into the garden early to-morrow, I want to talk to you.' 'Very well,' she replies, 'I have something to tell you too.' She says this so gravely, and flushes a little, that he ponders for some time on what she can have to tell him, and Philippa goes up to her bedroom, her head throbbing and with a wild desire to cry. 'Good-night, dear,' says Mabel, 'I am so tired I really cannot stay and talk to you to-night, and you, child, you look knocked up, go to bed at once.' 'Good-night,' replies Lippa, and having dispensed with the services of her maid she seems to have no intention of seeking her downy couch, she envelopes herself in a loose wrapper and drawing an armchair up to the window, appears to be contemplating the moon, but her thoughts are far far away from it. Poor little Miss Seaton, a great battle is going on within her; she will let no one know what she has overheard this afternoon, unless she explains all to Dalrymple and lets him decide as to what ... but no, she will just tell him it is impossible for her to marry him, ten to one if he knew all he would laugh at her fears, and marrying her, would in a few years have to consign his wife to a lunatic asylum; it will be the right thing not to let him have a chance of marrying her; and coming to this conclusion, she tries to forget the man she loves, and her heart is filled with compassion for her mother, and then she remembers Ponsonby's life story. 'How strange,' she murmurs, 'in one day to have learnt all this; but oh, how shall I tell Jimmy, and he will think I love somebody else, but I must do the right thing, I must and I will.'