Lorimer heard him in silence,--a silence maintained partly out of sympathy, and partly that he might keep his own feelings well under control.
"But why persist in looking at the gloomy side of the picture?" he said at last. "Suppose she loves you?"
"Suppose an angel flew down from Heaven!" replied Philip, with rather a sad smile. "My dear fellow, who am I that I should flatter myself so far? If she were one of those ordinary women to whom marriage is the be-all and end-all of existence, it would be different--but she is not. Her thoughts are like those of a child or a poet,--why should I trouble them by the selfishness of my passion? for all passion is selfish, even at its best. Why should I venture to break the calm friendship she may have for me, by telling her of a love which might prove unwelcome!"
Lorimer looked at him with gentle amusement depicted in his face.
"Phil, you are less conceited than I thought you were," he said, with a light laugh, "or else you are blind--blind as a bat, old man! Take my advice,--don't lose any more time about it. Make the 'king's daughter of Norroway' happy, . . ." and a brief sigh escaped him. "You are the man to do it. I am surprised at your density; Sigurd, the lunatic, has more perception. He sees which way the wind blows,--and that's why he's so desperately unhappy. He thinks--and thinks rightly too--that he will lose his 'beautiful rose of the northern forest,' as he calls her,--and that you are to be the robber. Hence his dislike to you. Dear me!" and Lorimer lit a cigarette and puffed at it complacently. "It seems to me that my wits are becoming sharper as I grow older, and that yours, my dear boy,--pardon me! . . . are getting somewhat blunted, otherwise you would certainly have perceived--" he broke off abruptly.
"Well, go on!" exclaimed Philip eagerly, with flashing eyes. "Perceived what?"
Lorimer laughed. "That the boat containing your Sun-empress is coming along very rapidly, old fellow, and that you'd better make haste to receive her!"
This was the fact, and Duprèz had risen from his chair and was waving his French newspaper energetically to the approaching visitors. Errington hastened to the gangway with a brighter flush than usual on his handsome face, and his heart beating with a new sense of exhilaration and excitement. If Lorimer's hints had any foundation of truth--if Thelma loved him ever so little--how wild a dream it seemed! . . . why not risk his fate? He resolved to speak to her that very day if opportunity favored him,--and, having thus decided, felt quite masterful and heroic about it.