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"As a nation," his questioner proceeded, "they probably don't waste as much time on cards as we do." Lessingham's interest in the subject appeared to be non-existent. He strolled away from the sideboard towards Philippa. She, for her part, was watching Captain Griffiths. "So many thanks, Lady Cranston," Lessingham murmured, "for your hospitality." "And what about that secret?" she asked.
Of course, the incident is all new to you you have been away from all kinds of news; to us it is an old, worn-out story. Lord Arleigh and I quarreled and parted because of his marriage, so you may imagine it is not a very attractive subject to me." "Well, I will say no more about it, but I am sincerely sorry, Philippa.
My memories of the part of Philippa are rather vague, but I know that Reade was right in insisting that I needed more "bite" in the passages when I was dressed as a boy.
"It was a faked chart, then, of course?" Richard demanded breathlessly. "And quite the cleverest I ever prepared," Sir Henry acknowledged. "I can assure you that it would have taken in Von Tirpitz himself, if he'd got hold of it." "But where is Maderstrom now, sir?" Richard asked. Sir Henry moved his head towards the window, where Philippa, for the last few moments, had softly taken her place.
Not a very gracious manner of presenting a gift, it must be confessed; but Philippa well knew that nothing of any value was likely to be handed to her. Moreover, this was the first present that had ever been made to her.
Philippa was silent for several moments. "No," she admitted, "I don't think that I do." "You don't care for Henry any more?" "Just as much as ever," was the somewhat bitter reply. "That's what I resent so much. I should like Henry to believe that he had killed every spark of love in me." Helen moved across and sat on the arm of her friend's chair. She felt that she was going to be very daring.
Still, of course, he could not help his being a handsome fellow, having a vivid face and eyes transparent, whether blue or green, to flame of the brain exciting them; and that becomes a picture in the dream of girls a picture creating the dream often. And Philippa had asked her grandmother, very ingenuously indeed, with a most natural candour, why "they saw so little of Leo's hero."
Then he saw the gray towers and turrets of Verdun Royal rising from the trees; he thought of his childish visits to the house, and how his mother taught him to call the child Philippa his little wife. Who would have thought in those days that Philippa would live to be a duchess, and that he should so wildly worship, so madly love a fairer, younger face? He was made welcome at Verdun Royal.
In 1359 Queen Philippa, consort of Edward the Third, breathed her last in Windsor Castle. Richard the Second, grandson of Edward the Third, frequently kept his court at Windsor.
Just before he reached the front door, the postern gate in the wall on his left-hand side opened, and Philippa stood there, muffled up in her fur coat, framed in the faint and shadowy moonlight against the background of seabounded space. He moved eagerly towards her. "I heard the car," she whispered. "Come and sit down for a moment.
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