Later on that afternoon the heat seemed to have increased, not lessened,
and the ladies had declared even the cool, shaded drawing-room, with its
sweet scents and mellowed light, to be too warm; so they had gone out on
to the lawn, where a sweet western wind was blowing. Lady Peters had
taken with her a book, which she made some pretense of reading, but over
which her eyes closed in most suspicious fashion. The duchess, too, had
a book, but she made no pretense of opening it--her beautiful face had a
restless, half-wistful expression. They had quitted the drawing-room all
together, but Madaline had gone to gather some peaches. The duchess
liked them freshly gathered, and Madaline knew no delight so keen as
that of giving her pleasure.
When she had been gone some few minutes, Lord Arleigh asked where she
was, and the duchess owned, laughingly, to her fondness for ripe,
sun-kissed peaches.
"Madaline always contrives to find the very best forms," she said. "She
is gone to look for some now."
"I will go and help her," said Lord Arleigh, looking at Philippa's face.
He thought the fair cheeks themselves not unlike peaches, with their
soft, sweet, vivid coloring.
She smiled to herself with bitter scorn as he went away.
"It works well," she said; "but it is his own fault--Heaven knows, his
own fault."
An hour afterward Lady Peters said to her, in a very solemn tone of
voice:
"Philippa, my dear, it may not be my duty to speak, but I cannot help
asking you if you notice anything?"
"No, nothing at this minute."
But Lady Peters shook her head with deepest gravity.
"Do you not notice the great attention that Lord Arleigh pays your
beautiful young companion?"
"Yes, I have noticed it," said the duchess--and all her efforts did not
prevent a burning, passionate flush rising to her face.
"May I ask you what you think of it, my dear?"
"I think nothing of it. If Lord Arleigh chooses to fall in love with
her, he may. I warned him when she first came to live with me--I kept
her most carefully out of his sight; and then, when I could no longer
conveniently do so, I told him that he must not fall in love with her. I
told him of her birth, antecedents, misfortunes--everything connected
with her. His own mother or sister could not have warned him more
sensibly."
"And what was the result?" asked Lady Peters, gravely.
"Just what one might have expected from a man," laughed the duchess.
"Warn them against any particular thing, and it immediately possesses a
deep attraction for them. The result was that he said she was his ideal,
fairly, fully, and perfectly realized. I, of course, could say no more."
"But," cried Lady Peters, aghast, "you do not think it probable that he
will marry her?"
"I cannot tell. He is a man of honor. He would not make love to her
without intending to marry her."
"But there is not a better family in England than the Arleighs of
Beechgrove, Philippa. It would be terrible for him--such a
_mésalliance;_ surely he will never dream of it."
"She is beautiful, graceful, gifted, and good," was the rejoinder. "But
it is useless for us to argue about the matter. He has said nothing
about marrying her; he has only called her his ideal."
"I cannot understand it," said poor Lady Peters. "It seems strange to
me."
She would have thought it stranger still if she had followed them and
heard what Lord Arleigh was saying.
He had followed Madaline to the southern wall, whereon the luscious
peaches and apricots grew. He found her, as the duchess had intimated,
busily engaged in choosing the ripest and best. He thought he had never
seen a fairer picture than this golden-haired girl standing by the green
leaves and rich fruit. He thought of Tennyson's "Gardener's daughter."
"One arm aloft----
Gowned in pure white that fitted to the shape--
Holding the bush, to fix it back, she stood.
The full day dwelt on her brows and sunned
Her violet eyes, and all her Hebe bloom,
And doubled his own warmth against her lips,
And on the beauteous wave of such a breast
As never pencil drew. Half light, half shade,
She stood, a sight to make an old man young."
He repeated the lines as he stood watching her, and then he went nearer
and called:
"Madaline!"
Could he doubt that she loved him? Her fair face flushed deepest
crimson; but, instead of turning to him, she moved half coyly, half
shyly away.
"How quick you are," he said, "to seize every opportunity of evading
me! Do you think you can escape me, Madaline? Do you think my love is so
weak, so faint, so feeble, that it can be pushed aside lightly by your
will? Do you think that, if you tried to get to the other end of the
world, you could escape me?"
Half blushing, half laughing, trembling, yet with a happy light in her
blue eyes, she said:
"I think you are more terrible than any one I know."
"I am glad that you are growing frightened, and are willing to own that
you have a master--that is as it should be. I want to talk to you,
Madaline. You evade me lest you should be compelled to speak to me; you
lower those beautiful eyes of yours, lest I should be made happy by
looking into them. If you find it possible to avoid my presence, to run
away from me, you do. I am sure to woo you, to win you, to make you my
sweet, dear wife--to make you happier, I hope, than any woman has ever
been before--and you try to evade me, fair, sweet, cruel Madaline!"
"I am afraid of you, Lord Arleigh," she said, little dreaming how much
the naïve confession implied.
"Afraid of me! That is because you see that I am quite determined to win
you. I can easily teach you how to forget all fear."
"Can you?" she asked, doubtfully.
"Yes, I can, indeed, Madaline. Deposit those peaches in their green
leaves on the ground. Now place both your hands in mine."
She quietly obeyed the first half of his request as though she were a
child, and then she paused. The sweet face crimsoned again; he took her
hands in his.
"You must be obedient," he said. "Now look at me."
But the white lids drooped over the happy eyes.
"Look at me, Madaline," he repeated, "and say, 'Norman, I do love you. I
will forget all the nonsense I have talked about inequality of position,
and will be your wife.'"
"In justice to yourself I cannot say it."
He felt the little hands tremble in his grasp, and he released them with
a kiss.
"You will be compelled to say it some day, darling. You might as well
try now. If I cannot win you for my wife, I will have no wife, Madaline.
Ah, now you are sorry you have vexed me!
"'And so it was--half sly, half shy;
You would and would not, little one,
Although I pleaded tenderly
And you and I were all alone.'
Why are you so hard, Madaline? I am sure you like me a little; you dare
not raise your eyes to mine and say, 'I do not love you, Norman.'"
"No," she confessed, "I dare not. But there is love and love; the lowest
love is all self, the highest is all sacrifice. I like the highest."
And then her eyes fell on the peaches, and she gave a little cry of
alarm.
"What will the duchess say?" she cried. "Oh, Lord Arleigh, let me go."
"Give me one kind word, then."
"What am I to say? Oh, do let me go!"
"Say, 'I like you, Norman.'"
"I like you, Norman," she said; and, taking up the peaches, she hastened
away. Yet, with her flushed face and the glad light in her happy eyes,
she did not dare to present herself at once before the duchess and Lady
Peters.