He did not know what answer to make to that, it was so entirely his own way of thinking.

“But, Philippa,” he resumed after a pause, “do you not think that you might love him if you tried?”

“I have never thought about it,” was the quiet reply.

Lord Arleigh continued: 

“In my idea he is one of the most charming men in England; I have never seen a more perfect type of what an English gentleman should be—­he is noble, generous, brave, chivalrous.  What fault do you find with him, Philippa?”

“I?” she asked, looking up at him in wonder.  “My dear Norman, I have never found fault with the duke in my life.”

“Then why can you not love him?”

“That is a very different thing.  I find no fault with him; on the contrary, I agree with you that he is one of the noblest of men, yet I have never thought of marrying him.”

“But, Philippa”—­and with kindly impressiveness he laid one hand on her shoulder—­“why do you not think of marrying him?  Between you and myself there can be no compliments, no flattery.  I tell you that of all the women in England you are the most fitted to be the Duchess of Hazlewood—­and you would be a beautiful duchess, too.  Think of the position you would occupy—­second only to royalty.  I should like to see you in such a position—­you would fill it grandly.  Think of the power, the influence, the enormous amount of good you could do; think of it all, Philippa?”

He did not see the sudden, sharp quiver of pain that passed over the beautiful face, nor how pale it grew in the starlight.

“I am thinking,” she answered, quietly—­“I am listening attentively to all that you say.”

She drew the light scarf more closely around her shoulders and shuddered as though a chill breeze had passed over her.

“Are you cold, dear?” he asked kindly.

“Cold!  How could I be on this warm starlit night?  Go on, Norman; let me hear all that you have to say.”

“I am trying to persuade you to accept what seems to me one of the happiest lots ever offered to woman.  I want to see you the Duke of Hazlewood’s wife.  I cannot imagine any man more calculated to win a woman’s love, or to please her fancy, than he is.  He is young, handsome, noble in face and figure as he is in heart and soul; and he is clever and gifted.”

“Yes,” she allowed, slowly, “he is all that, Norman.”

“Some day or other he will be the leading spirit in the land; he will be the head of a great party.”

“That I believe,” she agreed.

“And he loves you so well, Philippa; I have never seen a man more devoted.  How many years has he loved you now—­two or three?  And he tells me that he shall go unmarried to the grave unless you consent to be his wife.”

“Did he tell you that?  He must indeed be attached to me,” she observed.  “Norman, did he ask you to say all this to me?”

“He asked me to plead his cause,” replied Lord Arleigh.