Miss L’Estrange, too, appeared to see and hear him only.  If any one wanted to win a smile from her lovely lips, he had but to make way for Lord Arleigh; if any man wanted a kind word, or a kind glance from the beautiful eyes, he had but to praise Lord Arleigh.  People soon perceived all this.  The last to discover it was Lord Arleigh himself.  It dawned but slowly upon him.  He began to perceive also that Philippa, after a fashion of her own, appropriated him.  She looked upon it as a settled arrangement that he should ride with her every day—­that every day he must either lunch or dine with them—­that he must be her escort to theater and ball.  If he at times pleaded other engagements she would look at him with an air of childish wonder and say: 

“They cannot have so great a claim upon you as I have, Norman?”

Then he was disconcerted, and knew not what to answer; it was true that there was no one with so great a claim—­it seemed to have been handed down from his mother to him.

His eyes were still further opened one day when a large and fashionable crowd had gathered at Lady Dalton’s garden-party.  Philippa was, as heretofore, the belle, looking more than usually lovely in a light gossamer dress of white and pink.  She was surrounded by admirers.  Lord Arleigh stood with a group of gentlemen under a great spreading beech-tree.

“How beautiful she is, that Miss L’Estrange!” said one—­Sir Alfred Martindale.  “I can believe in the siege of Troy when I look at her; and I think it just as well for mankind that such women are rare.”

“If ever there was a human moth,” observed another, “it is that unfortunate Duke of Mornton.  I have seen some desperate cases in my time, but none so desperate as his.”

Lord Arleigh laughed.  They were all intimate friends.

“The Duke of Mornton is a great friend of mine,” he said.  “I can only hope that he may be saved from the ultimate fate of a moth, and that Miss L’Estrange will take pity on him.”

He could not help seeing that the three gentleman looked up with an expression of utter wonder.

“Do you mean,” asked Sir Alfred, “that you hope Miss L’Estrange will marry the duke?”

“I do not think she could do better,” replied Lord Arleigh.

“You are the last man in London I should have expected to hear say so,” said Sir Alfred, quietly.

“Am I?  Pray may I ask why?”

“Yes, if you acquit me of all intention of rudeness in my reply.  I repeat that you are the last man in London whom I should have expected to hear make such a remark, for the simple reason that every one believes you are going to marry Miss L’Estrange yourself.”

Lord Arleigh’s face flushed hotly.

“Then ‘every one,’ as you put it, Sir Alfred, takes a great liberty—­an unauthorized liberty—­with the name of a very charming lady.  Miss L’Estrange and myself were much together when children—­our mothers were distantly related—­and at the present time we are—­excellent friends.”