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Their ideas were of the most primitive character, Britta had never been out of Norway, and Thelma's experiences, apart from her home life, extended merely to the narrow and restricted bounds of simple and severe convent discipline, where she had been taught that the pomps and vanities of the world were foolish and transient shows, and that nothing could please God more than purity and rectitude of soul.
"Don't go yet!" But Thelma was determined not to detain her husband a moment longer than he wished so Lady Winsleigh, seeing remonstrances were of no avail, bade them both an effusive good-night. "We must see a great deal of each other!" she said, pressing Thelma's hands warmly in her own: "I hope we shall be quite dear friends!"
"Sir Philip, you ought to make her put on something warm, I find the air growing chilly." At that moment the ever-ready Sir Francis Lennox approached with a light woolen wrap he had found in the hall. "Permit me!" he said gently, at the same time adroitly throwing it over Thelma's shoulders.
He felt as though he were endowed with a thousand senses, each one keenly alive and sensitive to the smallest touch, and there was a pulsation in his blood that was new and beyond his control, a something that beat wildly in his heart at the sound of Thelma's voice, or the passing flutter of her white garments near him. Of what use to disguise it from himself any longer? He loved her!
Never mind what comes of it, my dearie just tell your husband as soon as ever he comes home, and let him take the matter into his own hands. He's a fine man he'll know how to defend the pretty wife he loves so well!" And she smiled, while her shining knitting-needles clicked faster than ever. Thelma's face saddened a little. "I think I am not worthy of his love," she said sorrowfully. Mrs.
The impulsive Britta sprang to her side and kissed her with girlish and unaffected enthusiasm. "My dear, my dear! You are more lovely and sweet than anybody in the world!" she cried. "And I am sure Sir Philip thinks so too!" A beautiful roseate flush suffused Thelma's cheeks, and she smiled. "Yes, I know he does!" she replied softly. "And, after all, it does not matter what one wears."
To that end she had thrown out her evil hint respecting Thelma's affection for George Lorimer, but the shaft had been aimed uselessly. Errington knew too well the stainless purity of Thelma to wrong her by the smallest doubt, and he would have staked his life on the loyalty of his friend.
"Does Lady Errington play?" "A little," he answered. "She sings." At once there was a chorus of inanely polite voices round the piano, "Oh, do sing, Lady Errington! Please, give us one song!" and Sir Francis Lennox, sauntering up, fixed his languorous gaze on Thelma's face, murmuring, "You will not be so cruel as to refuse us such delight?"
"Where is Britta?" demanded Philip suddenly. "She has gone again to Lady Winsleigh's," answered Morris, "she says it is there that mischief has been done, I don't know what she means!" Philip shook off his secretary's sympathetic touch, and strode through the rooms to Thelma's boudoir.
At that moment, in a lull of the storm, Thelma's voice pealed upwards from the saloon. She was singing a French song, and the refrain rang out clearly "Ah! le doux son d'un baiser tendre!"
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