"No; I shall go home and write some letters, maybe, now I think of it. So good-night." Philip's "Good-night" was more curt than courteous, and he made his way to the club, where, according to his habit, he crouched his small form into one of the great chairs, drawing his head down between his shoulders, which were thrust upward by the resting of his elbows on the chair-arms. Here he sat long, taking no part in any conversation, but watching the smoke from his cigar. The next morning he came late to breakfast, and his mother lingered after the rest had left the table, to see that his coffee and chops were right and to mitigate his apparent depression. "Your little match-making scheme is likely to succeed beautifully," he said to her when the servant had gone. "What do you mean? I'm sure I had no views of that kind in asking Charley Millard and Phillida. I only wished to encourage Phillida to go more into society." "Views or no views, what it'll come to will be a match," Philip retorted. "Well, there'll be no harm done, I suppose." "Not if you think Charley the best man for her." There was something of dejection in the tone of this last remark, and a note of reproach to her, that rendered Mrs. Gouverneur uneasy. When Philip had left the table she revolved it in her mind. Was Philip himself in love with Phillida? Or did he know anything to the disadvantage of Millard? "Tell Mr. Philip I wish to see him before he goes out," she said to one of the maids. When Philip came to her room she looked at him with anxiety. "Do you know anything against Charley, Philip?" "Nothing whatever," said Philip, emphatically, as he pulled on his gloves. "Philip, tell me truly, do you care for your cousin yourself?" "Why, of course. She is my cousin, and a good girl--a little too fearfully good." "You know what I mean, Philip. Don't trifle with me." "What would be the use of my caring for Phillida, as you call it? Charley, with his usual luck, will get her, I am sure. You've fixed that." "Now, Philip, you reproach me unjustly. You've had years of intimacy with Phillida. Why did you never let her know what your feelings were?" "I? I haven't said that I have any feelings in the matter. Do you think Phillida would have me if Charley were out of the way? She knows me too well. She's a utilitarian. She would say, 'Cousin Phil is interesting, but he hides his talent in a napkin. He studied law, and now neglects to practise it because his uncle left him two or three thousand dollars a year.' To her I am only an idler, when I'm not a mocker." "She likes you, I am sure." "Yes, in a way, no doubt. But I'm a doubter, and a mocker, and a failure, and Phillida knows it. And so do I." "Ah, now, Philip, why will you be so discouraged with yourself? You're the cleverest young man in New York." But Philip only smiled and said, "Good-morning, mother," and ran down the stairs and out the door.