He could not have been standing there long, yet it seemed to him that long hours parted him from the life he had known before.  Presently he reproached himself for his folly.  What had taken place?  He had seen a fair face, that was all—­a face that embodied his dream of loveliness.  He had realized his ideal, he had suddenly, and without thinking of it, found his fate—­the figure, the beauty that he had dreamed of all his life.

Nothing more than that; yet the whole world seemed changed.  There was a brighter light in the blue skies, a new beauty had fallen on the flowers; in his heart was strange, sweet music; everything was idealized—­glorified.  Why?  Because he had seen the face that had always filled his thoughts.

It seemed to him that he had been there long hours, when the door suddenly opened, and her Grace of Hazlewood entered.

“Norman,” she said, as though in sudden wonder, “why did they show you in here?”

“I knew they were doing wrong,” he replied.  “This is your own special sanctum, Philippa?”

“Yes, it is indeed; still, as you are here, you may stay.  I want to speak to you about that Richmond dinner.  My husband does not seem to care about it.  Shall we give it up?”

They talked for a few minutes about it, and then the duchess said, suddenly: 

“What do you think about my roses, Norman?”

“They are wonderful,” he replied, and then, in a low voice, he asked, “Philippa, who is that beautiful girl out there among your flowers?”

She did not smile, but a sudden light came into her eyes.

“It would be a great kindness not to tell you,” she answered.  “You see what comes of trespassing in forbidden places.  I did not intend you to see that young lady.”

“Why not?” he asked, abruptly.

“The answer to your question would be superfluous,” she replied.

“But, Philippa, tell me at least who she is.”

“That I cannot do,” she replied, and then the magnificent face was lighted with a smile.  “Is she your ideal woman, Norman?” she asked.

“My dear Philippa,” he answered, gravely, “she is the idea,” woman herself neither more nor less.”

“Found at last!” laughed the duchess.  “For all that, Norman, you must not look it her.”

“Why not?  Is she married—­engaged?”

“Married?  That girl!  Why, she has only just left school.  If you really wish to know who she is I will tell you; but you must give me your word not to mention it.”

“I promise,” he replied.

He wondered why the beautiful face grew crimson and the dark eyes dropped.

“She is a poor relative of ours,” said the duchess, “poor, you understand—­nothing else.”

“Then she is related to the duke?” he interrogated.

“Yes, distantly; and, after a fashion, we have adopted her.  When she marries we shall give her a suitable dot.  Her mother married unfortunately.”