Lord Arleigh did not go to Beechgrove as he had intended. He found so
many old friends and so many engagements in London that he was not
inclined to leave it. Then, too, he began to notice many little things
which made him feel uncomfortable. He began to perceive that people
considered him in some kind of way as belonging to Miss L'Estrange; no
matter how many surrounded her, when he entered a room they were seen
one by one to disappear until he was left alone by her side. At first he
believed this to be accidental; after a time he knew that it must be
purposely done.
Miss L'Estrange, too, appeared to see and hear him only. If any one
wanted to win a smile from her lovely lips, he had but to make way for
Lord Arleigh; if any man wanted a kind word, or a kind glance from the
beautiful eyes, he had but to praise Lord Arleigh. People soon perceived
all this. The last to discover it was Lord Arleigh himself. It dawned
but slowly upon him. He began to perceive also that Philippa, after a
fashion of her own, appropriated him. She looked upon it as a settled
arrangement that he should ride with her every day--that every day he
must either lunch or dine with them--that he must be her escort to
theater and ball. If he at times pleaded other engagements she would
look at him with an air of childish wonder and say:
"They cannot have so great a claim upon you as I have, Norman?"
Then he was disconcerted, and knew not what to answer; it was true that
there was no one with so great a claim--it seemed to have been handed
down from his mother to him.
His eyes were still further opened one day when a large and fashionable
crowd had gathered at Lady Dalton's garden-party. Philippa was, as
heretofore, the belle, looking more than usually lovely in a light
gossamer dress of white and pink. She was surrounded by admirers. Lord
Arleigh stood with a group of gentlemen under a great spreading
beech-tree.
"How beautiful she is, that Miss L'Estrange!" said one--Sir Alfred
Martindale. "I can believe in the siege of Troy when I look at her; and
I think it just as well for mankind that such women are rare."
"If ever there was a human moth," observed another, "it is that
unfortunate Duke of Mornton. I have seen some desperate cases in my
time, but none so desperate as his."
Lord Arleigh laughed. They were all intimate friends.
"The Duke of Mornton is a great friend of mine," he said. "I can only
hope that he may be saved from the ultimate fate of a moth, and that
Miss L'Estrange will take pity on him."
He could not help seeing that the three gentleman looked up with an
expression of utter wonder.
"Do you mean," asked Sir Alfred, "that you hope Miss L'Estrange will
marry the duke?"
"I do not think she could do better," replied Lord Arleigh.
"You are the last man in London I should have expected to hear say so,"
said Sir Alfred, quietly.
"Am I? Pray may I ask why?"
"Yes, if you acquit me of all intention of rudeness in my reply. I
repeat that you are the last man in London whom I should have expected
to hear make such a remark, for the simple reason that every one
believes you are going to marry Miss L'Estrange yourself."
Lord Arleigh's face flushed hotly.
"Then 'every one,' as you put it, Sir Alfred, takes a great liberty--an
unauthorized liberty--with the name of a very charming lady. Miss
L'Estrange and myself were much together when children--our mothers were
distantly related--and at the present time we are--excellent friends."
"I am sorry," returned Sir Alfred, "if I have said anything to annoy
you. I thought the fact was as evident as the sun at noon-day; every one
in London believes it."
"Then people take an unwarrantable liberty with the lady's name," said
Lord Arleigh.
Some one else remarked, with a slightly impertinent drawl, that he did
not believe Miss L'Estrange would consider it a liberty. A flash from
Lord Arleigh's dark eyes silenced him.
A few minutes afterward Lord Arleigh found the Duchess of Aytoun and
Philippa seated underneath a large acacia-tree. Captain Gresham, a great
favorite in the London world, was by Philippa's side. The duchess, with
a charming gesture of invitation made room for Lord Arleigh by her side.
The gallant captain did not often find an opportunity of making love to
the belle of the season. Now that he had found it, he was determined not
to lose it--not for fifty Lord Arleighs. So, while the duchess talked to
the new-comer, he relentlessly pursued his conversation with Miss
L'Estrange.
There was but one music in the world for her, and that was the music of
Lord Arleigh's voice. Nothing could ever drown that for her. The band
was playing, the captain talking, the duchess conversing, in her gay,
animated fashion; but above all, clearly and distinctly, Philippa heard
every word that fell from Lord Arleigh's lips, although he did not know
it. He believed that she was, as she seemed to be, listening to the
captain.
"I have pleasing news concerning you, Lord Arleigh," said the duchess.
"I wonder if I may congratulate you?"
"What is it? I do not know of anything very interesting concerning
myself," he remarked--"nothing, I am sure, that calls for
congratulation."
"You are modest," said the duchess; "but I have certainly heard, and on
good authority, too, that you are about to be married."
"I can only say I was not in the least aware of it," he rejoined.
The duchess raised her parasol and looked keenly at him.
"Pray pardon me," she continued; "do not think that it is from mere
curiosity that I ask the question. Is there really no truth in the
report?"
"None whatever," he replied. "I have no more idea of being married than
I have of sailing this moment for the Cape."
"It is strange," said the duchess, musingly; "I had the information from
such good authority, too."
"There can be no better authority on the subject," said Lord Arleigh,
laughingly, "than myself."
"You; I admit that. Well, as the ice is broken, Lord Arleigh, and we are
old friends, I may ask, why do you not marry?"
"Simply because of marriage, and of love that ends in marriage, I have
not thought," he answered lightly.
"It is time for you to begin," observed the duchess; "my own impression
is that a man does no good in the world until he is married." And then
she added: "I suppose you have an ideal of womanhood?"
Lord Arleigh's face flushed.
"Yes," he acknowledged, "I have an ideal of my own, derived from poetry
I have read, from pictures I have seen--an ideal of perfect grace,
loveliness, and purity. When I meet that ideal, I shall meet my fate."
"Then you have never yet seen the woman you would like to to marry?"
pursued the duchess.
"No," he answered, quite seriously; "strange to say, although I have
seen some of the fairest and noblest types of womanhood, I have not yet
met with my ideal."
They were disturbed by a sudden movement--the flowers that Philippa held
in her hand had fallen to the ground.