WHITEWASH
and he liked odd things. "The green spangled one," she answered.
"Oh, is he to be there?" the drum-major inquired, negligently, as she closed her bedroom door.
Philippa stamped her foot with vexation and fairly fled up-stairs to her own sanctuary. There she flung, or more properly speaking, disposed herself upon her lounge, and rapidly reviewed the past crowded hours. She was engaged—that she knew; she was in love—she imagined. How dreadfully unfortunate that the two statements were not the natural sequence of each other. Pity for herself swept over her. Alas, for money conditions! cruel, worldly considerations! but she must be strong, she must be wise, and keep this foolish passion in its place. She pictured herself amid the luxurious surroundings her future fortune would assure her, and promptly forgot her peine de cœur in the pleasant occupation. It was recalled, however, by the entry of her maid bearing a square envelope, directed in Valdeck's familiar hand, and a small box tied with a pink ribbon.
