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And that night Philip wondered why his sweet wife talked so
plaintively in her sleep,--though he smiled as he listened to the drift
of those dove-like murmurings.
"No one knows how my boy loves me," sighed the dreaming voice. "No one
in all the world! How should he tire? Love can never tire!"
Meanwhile, Lady Winsleigh, in the seclusion of her own boudoir, penned a
brief note to Sir Francis Lennox as follows--
"DEAR OLD LENNIE,"
"I saw you in the stalls at the theatre this evening, though you
pretended not to see me. What a fickle creature you are! not that I
mind in the very least. The virtuous Bruce-Errington left his
saintly wife and me to talk little platitudes together, while he,
decorously accompanied by his secretary, went down to pay court to
Violet Vere. How stout she is getting! Why don't you men advise her
to diet herself? I know you also went behind the scenes--of course,
you _are_ an _ami intime_--promising boy you are, to be sure! Come and
lunch with me to-morrow, if you're not too lazy.


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