Part 11 (2/2)

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 d.u.c.h.ess had played her part.

Chapter IX.

Philippa L'Estrange thought long and earnestly over her last conversation with Lord Arleigh. She had always loved him; but the chances are that, if he had been devoted to her on his return, if he had wooed her as others did, she would have been less _empressee_. As it was, he was the only man she had not conquered, the only one who resisted her, on whom her fascinations fell without producing a magical effect. She could not say she had conquered her world while he was unsubdued. Yet how was it? She asked herself that question a hundred times each day. She was no coquette, no flirt, yet she knew she had but to smile on a man to bring him at once to her feet; she had but to make the most trifling advance, and she could do what she would. The Duke of Mornton had twice repeated his offer of marriage--she had refused him.

The Marquis of Langland, the great match of the day, had made her an offer, which she had declined. The Italian Prince Cetti would have given his possessions to take her back with him to his own sunny land, but she had refused to go. No woman in England had had better offers of marriage; but she had refused them all. How was it that, when others sighed so deeply and vainly at her feet, Lord Arleigh alone stood aloof?

Of what use were her beauty, wit, grace, wealth, and talent, if she could not win him? For the first time she became solicitous about her beauty, comparing it with that of other women, always being compelled, in the end, to own that she excelled. If Lord Arleigh talked, or danced, or showed attention to any lady, she would critically examine her claim to interest, whether she was beautiful, mentally gifted, graceful. But Philippa detected another thing--if Lord Arleigh did not love her, it was at least certain that he loved no one else.

The whole world was spoiled for her because she had not this man's love.

She desired it. Her beauty, her wealth, her talents, her grace, were all as nothing, because with them she could not win him. Then, again, she asked herself, could it be that she could not win him? What had men told her? That her beauty was irresistible. It might be that he did care for her, that he intended to carry out his mother's favorite scheme, but that he was in no hurry, that he wanted her and himself to see plenty of life first. It was easier, after all, to believe that than to think that she had completely failed to win him. She would be quite satisfied if it were so, although it was certainly not flattering to her that he should be willing to wait so long; but, if he would only speak--if he would only say the few words that would set her mind quite at ease--she would be content.

Why did he not love her? She was fair, young, endowed with great gifts; she had wealth, position; she had the claim upon him that his mother and hers had wished the alliance. Why did she fail? why did he not love her?

It seemed to her that she was the one person in all the world to whom he would naturally turn--that, above all others, he would select her for his wife; yet he did not evince the least idea of so doing. Why was it?

Twice that night when he had so frankly told her his ideas about women, she had been most careful, most reserved.

”If he likes reserve and indifference,” she said to herself, ”he shall have plenty of it.” Yet it was at the same time so mixed with kindness, with thoughtful consideration for him, that the wonder was he did not succ.u.mb. ”I must find out,” she said to herself, ”whether he does really care for me.” How to do so she did not quite know--but woman's wits are proverbially keen.

The more she saw of him the better she liked him--his single-mindedness, his chivalry, his faith in women and his respect for them, were greater than she had seen in any other, and she loved him for these qualities.

The more she contrasted him with others, the greater, deeper, and wider grew her love. It must be that in time he should care for her.

The d.u.c.h.ess of Aytoun gave a grand ball, to which, as belle of the season, Philippa was invited.

”Shall you go?” she asked of Lord Arleigh.

”I have hardly decided,” he replied.

”Do go, Norman; I like waltzing, but I do not care to waltz with every one. Do go, that I may dance with you.”

”You do not mind waltzing with me, then?” he said.

The glance she gave him was answer sufficient. He could not kelp feeling flattered.

”I shall be there, Philippa,” he said; and then she promised herself on that evening she would try to discover what his sentiments were with regard to her.

She took great pains with her toilet; she did not wish to startle, but to attract--and the two things were very different. Her dress looked brilliant, being of a silvery texture; the tr.i.m.m.i.n.g was composed of small fern-leaves; a _parure_ of fine diamonds crowned her head.

The effect of the dress was striking, and Philippa herself had never looked more lovely. There was a flush of rose-color on her face, a light in her eyes. If ever woman's face told a story, hers did--if ever love softened, made more tender and pure any face on earth, it was hers.

After her toilet was complete, she stood for a few minutes looking in her mirror. The tall, stately figure in the glorious dress was perfect; the face, framed in s.h.i.+ning ma.s.ses of dark hair, was perfect too.

<script>