“No one was ever so happy, so blessed with true friends as I am,” he would say; at which speech the young duchess would smile that strange fathomless smile so few understood.

If they went to Vere Court, Lord Arleigh was generally asked to go with them; the Duke really liked him—­a great deal for his own sake, more still for the sake of his wife.  He could understand the childish friendship having grown with their growth; and he was too noble to expect anything less than perfect sincerity and truth.

The duchess kept her word.  She made no further allusion to the Puritan maiden—­that little episode had, so it appeared, completely escaped her memory.  There was one thing to be noticed—­she often read the “Lady of Lyons,” and appeared to delight in it.  When she had looked through a few pages, she would close the book with a sigh and a strange, brooding smile.  At times, too, she would tease Lord Arleigh about his ideal woman but that was always in her husband’s presence.

“You have not found the ideal woman yet, Norman?” she would ask him, laughingly; and he would answer.  “No, not yet.”

Then the duke would wax eloquent, and tell him that he really knew little of life—­that if he wanted to be happy he must look for a wife.

“You were easily contented,” the duchess would say.  “Norman wants an ideal.  You were content with a mere mortal—­he will never be.”

“Then find him an ideal, Philippa,” would be the duke’s reply “You know some of the nicest girls in London; find him an ideal among them.”

Then to the beautiful face would come the strange, brooding smile.

“Give me time,” would her Grace of Hazlewood say; “I shall find just what I want for him—­in time.”

Chapter XVI.

It was a beautiful, pure morning.  For many years there had not been so brilliant a season in London; every one seemed to be enjoying it; ball succeeded ball; fete succeeded fete.  Lord Arleigh had received a note from the Duchess of Hazlewood, asking him if he would call before noon, as she wished to see him.

He went at once to Verdun House, and was told that the duchess was engaged, but would see him in a few minutes.  Contrary to the usual custom, he was shown into a pretty morning-room, one exclusively used by the duchess—­a small, octagonal room, daintily furnished, which opened on to a small rose-garden, also exclusively kept for the use of the duchess.  Into this garden neither friend nor visitor ever ventured; it was filled with rose-trees, a little fountain played in the midst, and a small trellised arbor was at one side.  Why had he been shown into the duchess’ private room?  He had often heard the duke tease his wife about her room, and say that no one was privileged to enter it; why, then, was such a privilege accorded him?

He smiled to himself, thinking that in all probability it was some mistake of the servants; he pictured to himself the expression of Philippa’s face when she should find him there.  He looked round; the room bore traces of her presence—­around him were some of her favorite flowers and books.