Lord Arleigh raised his hat from his brow and stood for a few minutes
bareheaded in the starlight. He felt like a man who had been in the
stifling atmosphere of a conservatory; warmth and perfume had dazed him.
How beautiful Philippa was--how bewildering! What a nameless wondrous
charm there was about her! No wonder that half London was at her feet,
and that her smiles were eagerly sought. He was not the least in love
with her; admiration, homage, liking, but not love--anything but
that--filled him; yet he dreamed of her, thought of her, compared her
face with others that he had seen--all simply because her beauty had
dazed him.
"I can believe now in the sirens of old," he said to himself; "they must
have had just such dark, glowing eyes, such rich, sweet voices and
beautiful faces. I should pity the man who hopelessly loved Philippa
L'Estrange. And, if she ever loves any one, it will be easy for her to
win; who could resist her?"
How little he dreamed that the whole passionate love of her heart was
given to himself--that to win from him one word of love, a single token
of affection, she would have given all that she had in the world.
On the day following he received a note; it said simply:
"Dear Norman: Can you join me in a ride? I have a new horse which
they tell me is too spirited. I shall not be afraid to try it if
you are with me.
"Yours, Philippa."
He could not refuse--indeed, he never thought of refusing--why should
he? The beautiful girl who asked this kindness from him was his old
friend and playfellow. He hastened to Verdun House and found Philippa
waiting for him.
"I knew you would come," she said. "Lady Peters said you would be
engaged. I thought differently."
"You did well to trust me," he returned, laughingly; "it would require a
very pressing engagement to keep me from the pleasure of attending you."
He had thought her perfect on the previous evening, in the glitter of
jewels and the gorgeous costume of amber and while; yet, if possible,
she looked even better on this evening. Her riding-habit was neat and
plain, fitting close to the perfect figure, showing every gracious line
and curve.
Philippa L'Estrange possessed that rare accomplishment among women, a
graceful "seat" on horseback. Lord Arleigh could not help noticing the
admiring glances cast on her as they entered the park together. He saw
how completely she was queen of society. Unusual homage followed her.
She was the observed of all observers; all the men seemed to pause and
look at her. Lord Arleigh heard repeatedly, as they rode along, the
question, "Who is that beautiful girl?" Every one of note or distinction
contrived to speak to her. The Prince of Auboine, at that time the most
_fêted_ guest in England, could hardly leave her. Yet, in the midst of
all, Lord Arleigh saw that she turned to him as the sunflower to the
sun. No matter with whom she was conversing, she never for one moment
forgot him, never seemed inattentive, listened to him, smiled her
brightest on him, while the May sun shone, and the white hawthorn
flowers fell on the grass--while the birds chirped merrily, and crowds
of bright, happy people passed to and fro.
"How true she is to her old friends!" thought Lord Arleigh, when he saw
that even a prince could not take her attention from him.
So they rode on through the sunlit air--he fancy free, she loving him
every moment with deeper, truer, warmer love.
"I should be so glad, Norman," she said to him, "if you would give me a
few riding-lessons. I am sure I need them."
He looked at the graceful figure, at the little hands that held the
reins so deftly.
"I do not see what there is to teach you," he observed; "I have never
seen any one ride better."
"Still I should be glad of some little instruction from you," she said.
"I always liked riding with you, Norman."
"I shall be only too pleased to ride with you every day when I am in
town," he told her; and, though he spoke kindly, with smiling lips,
there was no warmth of love in his tone.
The day was very warm--the sun had in it all the heat of June. When they
reached Verdun House, Philippa said:
"You will come in for a short time, Norman? You look warm and tired.
Williams--the butler--is famous for his claret-cup."
He murmured something about being not fatigued, but disinclined for
conversation.
"You will not see any one," she said; "you shall come to my own
particular little room, where no one dares enter, and we will have a
quiet conversation there."
It seemed quite useless to resist her. She had a true siren power of
fascination. The next minute saw him seated in the cool, shady
_boudoir_, where the mellow light came in, rose-filtered through the
silken blinds, and the perfumed air was sweet. Lady Peters, full of
solicitude, was there, with the iced claret cup, thinking he was tired
and-warm. It was so like home that he could not help feeling happy.
Presently Lady Peters retired for a few minutes, and in came Philippa.
She had changed her riding-costume for a white silk _négligé_ that fell
round her in loose, graceful folds. She wore no flowers, jewels, or
ribbons, but the dark masses of her hair were unfastened, and hung round
the white neck; there was a warm, bright flush on her face, with the
least touch of languor in her manner. She threw herself back in her
lounging chair, saying, with a dreamy smile:
"You see that I make no stranger of you, Norman."
From beneath the white silken folds peeped a tiny embroidered slipper; a
jeweled fan lay near her, and with it she gently stirred the perfumed
air. He watched her with admiring eyes.
"You look like a picture that I have seen, Philippa," he said.
"What picture?" she asked, with a smile.
"I cannot tell you, but I am quite sure I have seen one like you. What
picture would you care to resemble?"
A sudden gleam of light came into her dark eyes.
"The one underneath which you would write 'My Queen,'" she said,
hurriedly.
He did not understand.
"I think every one with an eye to beauty would call you 'queen,'" he
observed, lightly. The graver meaning of her speech had quite escaped
him.
Then Lady Peters returned, and the conversation changed.
"We are going to hear an _opéra-bouffe_ to-night," said Philippa, when
Lord Arleigh was leaving. "Will you come and be our escort?"
"You will have a box filled with noisy chatterers the whole night," he
remarked, laughingly.
"They shall all make room for you, Norman, if you will come," she said.
"It is 'La Grande Duchesse,' with the far-famed Madame Schneider as her
Grace of Gérolstein."
"I have not heard it yet," returned Lord Arleigh. "I cannot say that I
have any great admiration for that school of music, but, if you wish it,
I will go, Philippa.
"It will increase my enjoyment a hundredfold," she said, gently, "if you
go."
"How can I refuse when you say that? I will be here punctually," he
promised; and again the thought crossed his mind how true she was to her
old friends--how indifferent to new ones!
On that evening Philippa changed her customery style of dress--it was no
longer the favorite amber, so rich in hue and in texture, but white,
gleaming silk, relieved by dashes of crimson. A more artistic or
beautiful dress could not have been designed. She wore crimson roses in
her dark hair, and a cluster of crimson roses on her white breast. Her
bouquet was of the same odorous flowers. In the theater Lord Arleigh
noticed that Philippa attracted more attention than any one else, even
though the house was crowded; he saw opera-glasses turned constantly
toward her beautiful face.
Miss L'Estrange kept her word, saying but little to those who would fain
have engrossed her whole attention--that was given, to Lord Arleigh. She
watched his face keenly throughout the performance. He did not evince
any great interest in it.
"You do not care for 'La Grande Duchesse?'" she said.
"No--frankly, I do not," he replied.
"Tell me why," said Philippa.
"Can you ask me to do so, Philippa?" he returned, surprised; and then he
added, "I will tell you. First of all, despite the taking music, it is a
performance to which I should not care to bring my wife and sister."
"Tell me why?" she said, again.
"It lowers my idea of womanhood. I could not forgive the woman, let her
be duchess or peasant, who could show any man such great love, who could
lay herself out so deliberately to win a man."
She looked at him gravely. He continued:
"Beauty is very charming, I grant--as are grace and talent; but the
chief charm to me of a woman is her modesty. Do you not agree with me,
Philippa?"
"Yes," she replied, "most certainly I do; but, Norman, you are hard upon
us. Suppose that, woman loves a man ever so truly--she must not make any
sign?"
"Any sign she might make would most certainly, in my opinion, lessen her
greatest charm," he said.
"But," she persisted, "do you not think that is rather hard? Why must a
woman never evince a preference for the man she loves?"
"Woman should be wooed--never be wooer," said Lord Arleigh.
"Again I say you are hard, Norman. According to you, a woman is to break
her heart in silence and sorrow for a man, rather than give him the
least idea that she cares for him."
"I should say there is a happy medium between the Duchess of Gérolstein
and a broken heart. Neither men nor women can help their peculiar
disposition, but in my opinion a man never more esteems a woman than
when he sees she wants to win his love."
He spoke with such perfect freedom from all consciousness that she knew
the words could not be intended for her; nevertheless she had learned a
lesson from them.
"I am like yourself, Norman," she said; "I do not care for the play at
all; we will go home," and they left the house before the Grand Duchess
had played her part.