“My dear Norman,” she said, with a bright smile of greeting, “Vere told me, if you came, to keep you for luncheon; he wants to see you particularly.  The horse that won the Derby, he has been told, is for sale, and he wants you to see it with him.”

“I shall be very pleased,” replied Lord Arleigh.  “You seem hurried this morning, Philippa.”

“Yes; such a contretemps!  Just as I was anticipating a few hours with you, the Countess of Farnley came in, with the terrible announcement that she was here to spend the morning.  I have to submit to fate, and listen to the account of Clara’s last conquests, of the infamous behavior of her maid, of Lord Darnley’s propensity for indiscreet flirtations.  I tell her there is safety in number.  I have to look kind and sympathetic while I am bored to death.”

“Shall I accompany you and help you to amuse Lady Farnley?”

She repeated the words with a little laugh.

“Amuse Lady Farnley?  I never undertake the impossible.  You might as well ask me to move the monument, it would be quite as easy.”

“Shall I help her to amuse you, then?” he said.

“No, I will not impose on your friendship.  Make yourself as comfortable as you can, and I will try to hasten her departure.”

Just as she was going away Lord Arleigh called to her.

“Philippa!” she turned her beautiful head half impatiently to him.

“What is it, Norman?  Quick!  The countess will think I am lost.”

“May I go into your pretty rose-garden?” he asked.

She laughed.

“What a question!  Certainly; you my go just where you please.”

“She has forgotten her companion,” he said to himself, “or she is not about.”

He went into the morning-room and through the long, open French window; there were the lovely roses in bloom, and there—­oh, kind, blessed fate!—­there was his beautiful Madaline, seated in the pretty trellised arbor, busily working some fine point-lace, looking herself like the fairest flower that ever bloomed.

The young girl looked up at him with a startled glance—­shy, sweet, hesitating—­and then he went up to her.

“Do not let me disturb you,” he said.  “The duchess is engaged and gave me permission to wait for her here.”

She bowed, and he fancied that her white fingers trembled.

“May I introduce myself to you?” he continued.  “I am Lord Arleigh.”

A beautiful blush, exquisite as the hue of the fairest rose, spread over her face.  She looked at him with a smile.

“Lord Arleigh,” she repeated—­“I know the name very well.”

“You know my name very well—­how is that?” he asked, in surprise.

“It is a household word here,” she said; “I hear it at least a hundred times a day.”

“Do you?  I can only hope that you are not tired of it.”

“No, indeed I am not;” and then she drew back with a sudden hesitation, as though it had just occurred to her that she was talking freely to a stranger.