Part 29 (1/2)
”How strange!” murmured the d.u.c.h.ess.
”Do you think it strange? Remember how fair and winsome she is--how sweet and gentle. I do not believe there is any one like her.”
The white hand that, held the jeweled fan moved more vigorously.
”Why do you tell me this, Norman? What do you wish me to do?”
”You have always been so kind to me,” he said, ”you have ever been as a sister, my best, dearest, truest friend. I could not have a feeling of this kind without telling you of it. Do you remember how you used to tease me about my ideal. Neither of us thought in those days that I should find her under your roof.”
”No,” said the d.u.c.h.ess, quietly, ”it is very strange.”
”I despaired of winning Madaline,” he continued. ”She had such strange ideas of the wonderful distance between us--she thought so much more of me than of herself, of the honor of my family and my name--that, to tell you the truth, Philippa, I thought I should never win her consent to be my wife.”
”And you have won it at last,” she put in, with quiet gravity.
”Yes--at last. This morning she promised to be my wife.”
The dark eyes looked straight into his own.
”It is a miserable marriage for you, Norman. Granted that Madaline has beauty, grace, purity, she is without fortune, connection, position.
You, an Arleigh of Beechgrove, ought to do better. I am speaking as the world will speak. It is really a wretched marriage.”
”I can afford to laugh at the world to please myself in the choice of a wife. There are certain circ.u.mstances under which I would not have married any one; these circ.u.mstances do not surround my darling. She stands out clear and distinct as a bright jewel from the rest of the world. To-day she promised to be my wife, but she is so sensitive and hesitating that I am almost afraid I shall lose her even now, and I want to marry her as soon as I can.”
”But why,” asked the d.u.c.h.ess, ”do you tell me this?”
”Because it concerns you most nearly. She lives under your roof--she is, in some measure, your protegee.”
”Vere will be very angry when he hears of it,” said the d.u.c.h.ess. And then Lord Arleigh looked up proudly.
”I do not see why he should. It is no business of his.”
”He will think it so strange.”
”It is no stranger than any other marriage,” said Lord Arleigh.
”Philippa, you disappoint me. I expected more sympathy at least from you.”
The tone of his voice was so full of pain that she looked up quickly.
”Do you think me unkind, Norman? You could not expect any true friend of yours to be very delighted at such a marriage as this, could you?” It seemed as though she knew and understood that opposition made his own plan seem only the dearer to him. ”Still I have no wish to fail in sympathy. Madaline is very lovely and very winning--I have a great affection for her--and I think--nay, I am quite sure--that she loves you very dearly.”
”That is better--that is more like your own self, Philippa. You used to be above all conventionality. I knew that in the depths of your generous heart you would be pleased for your old friend to be happy at last--and I shall be happy, Philippa. You wish me well, do you not?”
Her lips seemed hard and dry as she replied:
”Yes, I wish you well.”
”What I wished to consult you about is my marriage. It must not take place here, of course. I understand, and think it only natural, that the duke does not wish to have public attention drawn to Madaline. We all like to keep our little family secrets; consequently I have thought of a plan which I believe will meet all the difficulties of the case.”