Miss L'Estrange was standing alone in the small conservatory on the
morning following her eventful conversation with Lord Arleigh, when the
latter was announced. How she had passed the hours of the previous night
was known only to herself. As the world looks the fairer and fresher for
the passing of a heavy storm, the sky more blue, the color of flowers
and trees brighter so she on this morning, after those long hours of
agony, looked more beautiful than ever. Her white morning dress, made of
choice Indian muslin, was relieved by faint touches of pink; fine white
lace encircled her throat and delicate wrists. Tall and slender, she
stood before a large plant with scarlet blossoms when he came in.
Lord Arleigh looked as he felt--ill at ease. He had not slept through
thinking of the conversation in the balcony--it had made him profoundly
wretched. He would have given much not to renew it; but she had asked
him to come, and he had promised.
Would she receive him with tears and reproaches? Would she cry out that
he was cold and cruel? Would she torture himself and herself by trying
to find out why he did not love her? Or would she be sad, cold, and
indifferent?
His relief was great when she raised a laughing, radiant face to his and
held out her hand in greeting.
"Good-morning, Norman," she said, in a pleasant voice. "Now confess that
I am a clever actress, and that I have given you a real fright."
He looked at her in wonder.
"I do not understand you," he returned.
"It is so easy to mislead a man," she said, laughingly.
"I do not understand, Philippa," he repeated.
"Did you really take all my pretty balcony scene in earnest last night?"
she asked.
"I did indeed," he replied; and again the clear musical laugh, seemed to
astonish him.
"I could not have believed it, Norman," she said. "Did you really think
I was in earnest?"
"Certainly I did. Were you not?"
"No," she answered.
"Then I thank Heaven for it," he said, "for I have been very unhappy
about you. Why did you say so much if you did not mean it, Philippa?"
"Because you annoyed me by pleading the cause of the duke. He had no
right to ask you to do such a thing, and you were unwise to essay such a
task. I have punished you by mystifying you--I shall next punish him."
"Then you did not mean all that you said?" he interrogated, still
wondering at this unexpected turn of events.
"I should have given you credit for more penetration, Norman," she
replied. "I to mean such nonsense--I to avow a preference for any man!
Can you have been so foolish as to think so? It was only a charade,
acted for your amusement."
"Oh, Philippa," he cried, "I am so pleased, dear! And yet--yet, do you
know, I wish that you had not done it. It has given me a shock. I shall
never be quite sure whether you are jesting or serious. I shall never
feel that I really understand you."
"You will, Norman. It did seem so ridiculous for you, my old
playfellow, to sit lecturing me so gravely about matrimony. You took it
so entirely for granted that I did not care for the duke."
"And do you care for him, Philippa?" he asked.
"Can you doubt it, after the description you gave of him, Norman?"
"You are mocking me again, Philippa," he said.
"But you were very eloquent, Norman," she persisted. "I have never heard
any one more so. You painted his Grace of Hazlewood in such glowing
colors that no one could help falling in love with him."
"Did I? Well, I do think highly of him, Philippa. And so, after all, you
really care for him?"
"I do not think I shall tell you, Norman. You deserve to be kept in the
dark. Would you tell me if you found your ideal woman?"
"I would. I would tell you at once," he replied, eagerly.
"If you could but have seen your face!" she cried. "I feel tempted to
act the charade over again. Why, Norman, what likeness can you see
between Philippa L'Estrange, the proud, cold woman of the world, and
that sweet little Puritan maiden at her spinning wheel?"
"I should never have detected any likeness unless you yourself had first
pointed it out," he said. "Tell me, Philippa, are you really going to
make the duke happy at last?"
"It may be that I am going to make him profoundly miserable As
punishment for your lecture, I shall refuse to tell you anything about
it," she replied; and then she added: "You will ride with me this
morning, Norman?"
"Yes. I will ride with you, Philippa. I cannot tell you how thankful and
relieved I am."
"To find that you have not made quite so many conquests as you thought,"
she said. "It was a sorry jest to play after all; but you provoked me to
it, Norman. I want you to make me a promise."
"That I will gladly do," he replied. Indeed he was so relieved so
pleased, so thankful to be freed from the load of self-reproach that he
would have promised anything.
Her face grew earnest. She held out her hand to him.
"Promise me this, Norman," she said--"that, whether I remain Philippa
L'Estrange or become Duchess of Hazlewood--no matter what I am, or may
be--you will always be the same to me as you are now--my brother, my
truest, dearest, best friend. Promise me."
"I do promise, Philippa, with all my heart," he responded. "And I will
never break my promise."
"If I marry, you will come to see me--you-will trust in me--you will be
just what you are now--you will make my house your home, as you do
this?"
"Yes--that is, if your husband consents," replied Lord Arleigh.
"Rely upon it, my husband--if I ever have one--will not dispute my
wishes," she said. "I am not the model woman you dream of. She, of
course, will be submissive in everything; I intend to have my own way."
"We are friends for life, Philippa," he declared; "and I do not think
that any one who really understands me will ever cavil at our
friendship."
"Then, that being settled, we will go at once for our ride. How those
who know me best would laugh, Norman, if they heard of the incident of
the Puritan maiden! If I go to another fancy ball this season, I shall
go as _Priscilla_ of Plymouth and you had better go as _John Alden_."
He held up his hands imploringly.
"Do not tease me about it any more, Philippa," he remarked, "I cannot
quite tell why, but you make me feel both insignificant and vain; yet
nothing would have been further from my mind than the ideas you have
filled it with."
"Own you were mistaken, and then I will be generous and forgive you,"
she said, laughingly.
"I was mistaken--cruelly so--weakly so--happily so," he replied. "Now
you will be generous and spare me."
He did not see the bitter smile with which she turned away, nor the
pallor that crept even to her lips. Once again in his life Lord Arleigh
was completely deceived.
A week afterward he received "a note in Philippa's handwriting it said,
simply:
"Dear Norman: You were good enough to plead the duke's cause. When
you meet him next, ask him if he has anything to tell you.
Philippa L'Estrange."
What the Duke of Hazlewood had to tell was that Miss L'Estrange had
promised to be his wife, and that the marriage was to take place in
August. He prayed Lord Arleigh to be present as his "best man" on the
occasion.
On the same evening Lady Peters and Miss L'Estrange sat in the
drawing-room at Verdun House, alone. Philippa had been very restless.
She had been walking to and fro; she had opened her piano and closed it;
she had taken up volume after volume and laid it down again, when
suddenly her eyes fell on a book prettily bound in crimson and gold,
which Lady Peters had been reading.
"What book is that?" she asked, suddenly.
"Lord Lytton's 'Lady of Lyons,'" replied Lady Peters.
Philippa raised it, looked through it, and then, with a strange smile
and a deep sigh, laid it down.
"At last," she said--"I have found it at last!"
"Found what, my dear?" asked Lady Peters, looking up.
"Something I have been searching for," replied Philippa, as she quitted
the room, still with the strange smile on her lips.