“I am sorry,” returned Sir Alfred, “if I have said anything to annoy you.  I thought the fact was as evident as the sun at noon-day; every one in London believes it.”

“Then people take an unwarrantable liberty with the lady’s name,” said Lord Arleigh.

Some one else remarked, with a slightly impertinent drawl, that he did not believe Miss L’Estrange would consider it a liberty.  A flash from Lord Arleigh’s dark eyes silenced him.

A few minutes afterward Lord Arleigh found the Duchess of Aytoun and Philippa seated underneath a large acacia-tree.  Captain Gresham, a great favorite in the London world, was by Philippa’s side.  The duchess, with a charming gesture of invitation made room for Lord Arleigh by her side.  The gallant captain did not often find an opportunity of making love to the belle of the season.  Now that he had found it, he was determined not to lose it—­not for fifty Lord Arleighs.  So, while the duchess talked to the new-comer, he relentlessly pursued his conversation with Miss L’Estrange.

There was but one music in the world for her, and that was the music of Lord Arleigh’s voice.  Nothing could ever drown that for her.  The band was playing, the captain talking, the duchess conversing, in her gay, animated fashion; but above all, clearly and distinctly, Philippa heard every word that fell from Lord Arleigh’s lips, although he did not know it.  He believed that she was, as she seemed to be, listening to the captain.

“I have pleasing news concerning you, Lord Arleigh,” said the duchess.  “I wonder if I may congratulate you?”

“What is it?  I do not know of anything very interesting concerning myself,” he remarked—­“nothing, I am sure, that calls for congratulation.”

“You are modest,” said the duchess; “but I have certainly heard, and on good authority, too, that you are about to be married.”

“I can only say I was not in the least aware of it,” he rejoined.

The duchess raised her parasol and looked keenly at him.

“Pray pardon me,” she continued; “do not think that it is from mere curiosity that I ask the question.  Is there really no truth in the report?”

“None whatever,” he replied.  “I have no more idea of being married than I have of sailing this moment for the Cape.”

“It is strange,” said the duchess, musingly; “I had the information from such good authority, too.”

“There can be no better authority on the subject,” said Lord Arleigh, laughingly, “than myself.”

“You; I admit that.  Well, as the ice is broken, Lord Arleigh, and we are old friends, I may ask, why do you not marry?”

“Simply because of marriage, and of love that ends in marriage, I have not thought,” he answered lightly.

“It is time for you to begin,” observed the duchess; “my own impression is that a man does no good in the world until he is married.”  And then she added:  “I suppose you have an ideal of womanhood?”