Philippa drew herself up. “But how do you know you haven’t?” she asked. “And, besides, how can you lose a thing you have never had?” Mansfield turned pale, but recovered himself promptly. “Are you trying to torment me because you know I care for you?” he demanded. “I think you are a little too fond of taking things for granted,” said Philippa demurely, looking away from him. “Well, there shall be no doubt about it in future,” said Mansfield, seizing her hands. “Look at me and tell me whether you care for me or not. Answer me, Phil.” “Oh, you are hurting my wrists! You are unkind! I--I----” “If you don’t care for me, it can’t hurt you to look at me and say so. I will let you go the moment you do.” “It’s very wrong of you to tempt me to tell a story,” said Philippa, with a sigh. “By all means tell the truth, then.” “But then you won’t let me go. There! I knew it.” “Then you do care? Tell the truth, Phil.” “Just a little.” For one moment the blue eyes met Mansfield’s, then they were hidden; but he was satisfied. “Ugh! it is cold,” cried Usk, throwing his reins to a gorgeously apparelled groom. “What a blessing to get in out of this beastly wind!” It was the second of January, and the genial, if unseasonable, weather of the past month had been succeeded by hard frosts and biting blasts, most difficult to cope with in a summer city like Damascus. Usk and Mr Judson dismounted from their horses and entered the hotel, stamping vigorously to warm their frozen feet. “A cup of Phil’s hottest tea suggests itself as a suitable restorative,” Usk went on. “After all, there are some advantages in her choosing to sit over the stove with her young man instead of facing the wintry wind. Come in, Judson. The family party is assembled, you see. What!” with an instantaneous change of tone as his eye fell upon Philippa’s dark-blue habit and Mansfield’s leggings, “you unblushing pair of frauds, do you mean to say that you went out, after all?” “Oh, we had a little ride on our own account,” said Philippa calmly. “Your society is always delightful, Usk, but sometimes it is slightly wearing,” said Mansfield, who had endured a good deal at the hands of his future brother-in-law during the last three days. “Ah, you lazy beggar, I know now why you cried off going to Jerusalem with the poor old Chevalier! It’s perfectly sickening to see Phil demoralising you with her attentions when she won’t even give her only and frozen brother a cup of tea.” “Sit still, Phil. I will pour out the tea,” said Lady Caerleon, with a loving pat on her daughter’s shoulder. In Philippa’s love-story her mother renewed her own youth, and in her overflowing happiness forgot to curb the little caressing ways which she had spent her married life in trying to repress as un-English.