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.

Chapter XI.

Captain Greshan sprang forward to lift the flowers which Miss L’Estrange had dropped.

“Nay,” she said, “never mind them.  A fresh flower is very nice.  A flower that has once been in the dust has lost its beauty.”

There was no trace of pain in the clear voice; it was rich and musical.  Philippa L’Estrange, seated in the bright sunshine, heard the words that were to her a death-warrant, yet made no sign.  “I have not yet met with my ideal,” Lord Arleigh had said.

Captain Gresham picked up some of the fallen flowers.

“A dead flower from your hand, Miss L’Estrange,” he observed “is worth a whole gardenful of living ones from any one else.”

She laughed again that sweet musical laugh which seemed to come only from a happy heart; and then she looked round.  The Duchess of Aytoun and Lord Arleigh were still in deep converse.  Miss L’Estrange turned to Captain Gresham.

“I have been told,” she said, “that there are some beautiful white hyacinths here; they are my favorite flowers.  Shall we find them?”

He was only too pleased.  She bade a laughing adieu to the duchess, and smiled at Lord Arleigh.  There was no trace of pain or of sadness in her voice or face.  They went away together and Lord Arleigh never even dreamed that she had heard his remark.

Then the duchess left him, and he sat under the spreading beech alone.  His thoughts were not of the pleasantest nature; he did not like the general belief in his approaching marriage; it was fair neither to himself nor to Philippa—­yet how was he to put an end to such gossip?  Another idea occurred to him.  Could it be possible that Philippa herself shared the idea?  He would not believe it.  Yet many things made him pause and think.  She certainly evinced great preference for his society; she was never so happy as when with him.  She would give up any engagement, any promised gayety or pleasure to be with him.  She dressed to please him; she consulted him on most things; she seemed to identify her interests with his.  But all this might be the result of their old friendship—­it might have nothing to do with love.