Chapter IX.Philippa L'Estrange thought long and earnestly over her last conversation with Lord Arleigh. She had always loved him; but the chances are that, if he had been devoted to her on his return, if he had wooed her as others did, she would have been lessempressée. As it was, he was the only man she had not conquered, the only one who resisted her, on whom her fascinations fell without producing a magical effect. She could not say she had conquered her world while he was unsubdued. Yet how was it? She asked herself that question a hundred times each day. She was no coquette, no flirt, yet she knew she had but to smile on a man to bring him at once to her feet; she had but to make the most trifling advance, and she could do what she would. The Duke of Mornton had twice repeated his offer of marriage--she had refused him. The Marquis of Langland, the great match of the day, had made her an offer, which she had declined. The Italian Prince Cetti would have given his possessions to take her back with him to his own sunny land, but she had refused to go. No woman in England had had better offers of marriage; but she had refused them all. How was it that, when others sighed so deeply and vainly at her feet, Lord Arleigh alone stood aloof?Of what use were her beauty, wit, grace, wealth, and talent, if she could not win him? For the first time she became solicitous about her beauty, comparing it with that of other women, always being compelled, in the end, to own that she excelled. If Lord Arleigh talked, or danced, or showed attention to any lady, she would critically examine her claim to interest, whether she was beautiful, mentally gifted, graceful. But Philippa detected another thing--if Lord Arleigh did not love her, it was at least certain that he loved no one else.The whole world was spoiled for her because she had not this man's love. She desired it. Her beauty, her wealth, her talents, her grace, were all as nothing, because with them she could not win him. Then, again, she asked herself, could it be that she could not win him? What had men told her? That her beauty was irresistible. It might be that he did care for her, that he intended to carry out his mother's favorite scheme, but that he was in no hurry, that he wanted her and himself to see plenty of life first. It was easier, after all, to believe that than to think that she had completely failed to win him. She would be quite satisfied if it were so, although it was certainly not flattering to her that he should be willing to wait so long; but, if he would only speak--if he would only say the few words that would set her mind quite at ease--she would be content.Why did he not love her? She was fair, young, endowed with great gifts; she had wealth, position; she had the claim upon him that his mother and hers had wished the alliance. Why did she fail? why did he not love her? It seemed to her that she was the one person in all the world to whom he would naturally turn--that, above all others, he would select her for his wife; yet he did not evince the least idea of so doing. Why was it?Twice that night when he had so frankly told her his ideas about women, she had been most careful, most reserved."If he likes reserve and indifference," she said to herself, "he shall have plenty of it." Yet it was at the same time so mixed with kindness, with thoughtful consideration for him, that the wonder was he did not succumb. "I must find out," she said to herself, "whether he does really care for me." How to do so she did not quite know--but woman's wits are proverbially keen.The more she saw of him the better she liked him--his single-mindedness, his chivalry, his faith in women and his respect for them, were greater than she had seen in any other, and she loved him for these qualities. The more she contrasted him with others, the greater, deeper, and wider grew her love. It must be that in time he should care for her.The Duchess of Aytoun gave a grand ball, to which, as belle of the season, Philippa was invited."Shall you go?" she asked of Lord Arleigh."I have hardly decided," he replied."Do go, Norman; I like waltzing, but I do not care to waltz with every one. Do go, that I may dance with you.""You do not mind waltzing with me, then?" he said.The glance she gave him was answer sufficient. He could not kelp feeling flattered."I shall be there, Philippa," he said; and then she promised herself on that evening she would try to discover what his sentiments were with regard to her.She took great pains with her toilet; she did not wish to startle, but to attract--and the two things were very different. Her dress looked brilliant, being of a silvery texture; the trimming was composed of small fern-leaves; aparureof fine diamonds crowned her head.The effect of the dress was striking, and Philippa herself had never looked more lovely. There was a flush of rose-color on her face, a light in her eyes. If ever woman's face told a story, hers did--if ever love softened, made more tender and pure any face on earth, it was hers.After her toilet was complete, she stood for a few minutes looking in her mirror. The tall, stately figure in the glorious dress was perfect; the face, framed in shining masses of dark hair, was perfect too."If I can but win one word from him!" she thought. "If I can but remind him of those childish days when he used to call me his little wife!"She no sooner made her appearance than, as was usual, she was surrounded by a little court of admirers--the Duke of Mornton first among them. They little guessed that they owed her complacent reception of their compliments to the fact that she was not even attending to them, but with her whole soul in her eyes was watching for Lord Arleigh's arrival. The duke even flattered himself that he was making some progress, because at some chance word from him the beautiful face flushed a deep crimson. How was he to know that Lord Arleigh had at that moment entered the room?The latter could not help feeling pleased and flattered at the way in which Philippa received him. He was but mortal, and he could not help seeing the dark eyes shine, the scarlet lips tremble, the whole face soften. Presently she placed her hand on his arm, and walked away with him."I was growing impatient, Norman," she said; and then, remembering his criticisms on the wooing of women, she hastened to add--"impatient at the want of novelty; it seems to me that in London ball-rooms all the men talk in the same fashion."Lord Arleigh laughed."What are they to do, Philippa?" he asked. "They have each one the same duties to perform--to please their partners and amuse themselves. You would not have a 'hapless lordling' talk about science or metaphysics while he danced, would you?""No; but they might find some intelligent remarks to make. You talk well, Norman, and listening to you makes me impatient with others.""You are very kind," he said, and he took the pretty tablets from her hand."You have saved every waltz for me, Philippa. I shall expect to have a dozen duels on my hands before morning.""'This is my favorite," she said, as the music of the irresistible "Blue Danube" filled the room.Then it seemed to her that they floated away into another sphere. His arm was round her, his eyes smiling down into hers. With youth, music, beauty, love, there was nothing wanting to complete the charm.When it was over, he asked her if she would rest."No," said Philippa; "I heard the playing of a fountain in the fernery. I should like to go there."They went through the magnificent suite of rooms, and then through the conservatory into the dim, beautiful fernery, where the lamps glowed like stars, and the cool rippling water fell with a musical rhythm into the deep basin below. They could hear the distant sound of music from the ball-room. It was a time when love, if it lay in a man's heart, would spring, into sweet, sudden life."If he loves me," she said to herself, "he will tell me so now.""I like this better than the ball-room," she said. "By the way, you have not told me if you like my dress?" she added, anxious to bring him to the one subject she had at heart. "Do you remember that when we were children, Norman, you used to criticise my dress?""Did I? It was very rude of me. I should not venture to criticise anything so marvelous now. It is a wonderful dress, Philippa; in the light it looks like moonbeams, in the shade like snow. Do you suppose I should ever have the courage to criticise anything so beautiful?""Do you really like it, Norman--without flattery?""I never flatter, Philippa, not even in jest; you should know that.""I never heard you flatter," she acknowledged. "I took pains with my toilet, Norman, to please you; if it does so I am well content.""There is another waltz," said Lord Arleigh; "we will go back to the ball-room.""Make him love me!" she said to herself, in bitter disdain. "I might as well wish for one of the stars as for his love--it seems just as far off."
Philippa L'Estrange thought long and earnestly over her last conversation with Lord Arleigh. She had always loved him; but the chances are that, if he had been devoted to her on his return, if he had wooed her as others did, she would have been lessempressée. As it was, he was the only man she had not conquered, the only one who resisted her, on whom her fascinations fell without producing a magical effect. She could not say she had conquered her world while he was unsubdued. Yet how was it? She asked herself that question a hundred times each day. She was no coquette, no flirt, yet she knew she had but to smile on a man to bring him at once to her feet; she had but to make the most trifling advance, and she could do what she would. The Duke of Mornton had twice repeated his offer of marriage--she had refused him. The Marquis of Langland, the great match of the day, had made her an offer, which she had declined. The Italian Prince Cetti would have given his possessions to take her back with him to his own sunny land, but she had refused to go. No woman in England had had better offers of marriage; but she had refused them all. How was it that, when others sighed so deeply and vainly at her feet, Lord Arleigh alone stood aloof?
Of what use were her beauty, wit, grace, wealth, and talent, if she could not win him? For the first time she became solicitous about her beauty, comparing it with that of other women, always being compelled, in the end, to own that she excelled. If Lord Arleigh talked, or danced, or showed attention to any lady, she would critically examine her claim to interest, whether she was beautiful, mentally gifted, graceful. But Philippa detected another thing--if Lord Arleigh did not love her, it was at least certain that he loved no one else.
The whole world was spoiled for her because she had not this man's love. She desired it. Her beauty, her wealth, her talents, her grace, were all as nothing, because with them she could not win him. Then, again, she asked herself, could it be that she could not win him? What had men told her? That her beauty was irresistible. It might be that he did care for her, that he intended to carry out his mother's favorite scheme, but that he was in no hurry, that he wanted her and himself to see plenty of life first. It was easier, after all, to believe that than to think that she had completely failed to win him. She would be quite satisfied if it were so, although it was certainly not flattering to her that he should be willing to wait so long; but, if he would only speak--if he would only say the few words that would set her mind quite at ease--she would be content.
Why did he not love her? She was fair, young, endowed with great gifts; she had wealth, position; she had the claim upon him that his mother and hers had wished the alliance. Why did she fail? why did he not love her? It seemed to her that she was the one person in all the world to whom he would naturally turn--that, above all others, he would select her for his wife; yet he did not evince the least idea of so doing. Why was it?
Twice that night when he had so frankly told her his ideas about women, she had been most careful, most reserved.
"If he likes reserve and indifference," she said to herself, "he shall have plenty of it." Yet it was at the same time so mixed with kindness, with thoughtful consideration for him, that the wonder was he did not succumb. "I must find out," she said to herself, "whether he does really care for me." How to do so she did not quite know--but woman's wits are proverbially keen.
The more she saw of him the better she liked him--his single-mindedness, his chivalry, his faith in women and his respect for them, were greater than she had seen in any other, and she loved him for these qualities. The more she contrasted him with others, the greater, deeper, and wider grew her love. It must be that in time he should care for her.
The Duchess of Aytoun gave a grand ball, to which, as belle of the season, Philippa was invited.
"Shall you go?" she asked of Lord Arleigh.
"I have hardly decided," he replied.
"Do go, Norman; I like waltzing, but I do not care to waltz with every one. Do go, that I may dance with you."
"You do not mind waltzing with me, then?" he said.
The glance she gave him was answer sufficient. He could not kelp feeling flattered.
"I shall be there, Philippa," he said; and then she promised herself on that evening she would try to discover what his sentiments were with regard to her.
She took great pains with her toilet; she did not wish to startle, but to attract--and the two things were very different. Her dress looked brilliant, being of a silvery texture; the trimming was composed of small fern-leaves; aparureof fine diamonds crowned her head.
The effect of the dress was striking, and Philippa herself had never looked more lovely. There was a flush of rose-color on her face, a light in her eyes. If ever woman's face told a story, hers did--if ever love softened, made more tender and pure any face on earth, it was hers.
After her toilet was complete, she stood for a few minutes looking in her mirror. The tall, stately figure in the glorious dress was perfect; the face, framed in shining masses of dark hair, was perfect too.
"If I can but win one word from him!" she thought. "If I can but remind him of those childish days when he used to call me his little wife!"
She no sooner made her appearance than, as was usual, she was surrounded by a little court of admirers--the Duke of Mornton first among them. They little guessed that they owed her complacent reception of their compliments to the fact that she was not even attending to them, but with her whole soul in her eyes was watching for Lord Arleigh's arrival. The duke even flattered himself that he was making some progress, because at some chance word from him the beautiful face flushed a deep crimson. How was he to know that Lord Arleigh had at that moment entered the room?
The latter could not help feeling pleased and flattered at the way in which Philippa received him. He was but mortal, and he could not help seeing the dark eyes shine, the scarlet lips tremble, the whole face soften. Presently she placed her hand on his arm, and walked away with him.
"I was growing impatient, Norman," she said; and then, remembering his criticisms on the wooing of women, she hastened to add--"impatient at the want of novelty; it seems to me that in London ball-rooms all the men talk in the same fashion."
Lord Arleigh laughed.
"What are they to do, Philippa?" he asked. "They have each one the same duties to perform--to please their partners and amuse themselves. You would not have a 'hapless lordling' talk about science or metaphysics while he danced, would you?"
"No; but they might find some intelligent remarks to make. You talk well, Norman, and listening to you makes me impatient with others."
"You are very kind," he said, and he took the pretty tablets from her hand.
"You have saved every waltz for me, Philippa. I shall expect to have a dozen duels on my hands before morning."
"'This is my favorite," she said, as the music of the irresistible "Blue Danube" filled the room.
Then it seemed to her that they floated away into another sphere. His arm was round her, his eyes smiling down into hers. With youth, music, beauty, love, there was nothing wanting to complete the charm.
When it was over, he asked her if she would rest.
"No," said Philippa; "I heard the playing of a fountain in the fernery. I should like to go there."
They went through the magnificent suite of rooms, and then through the conservatory into the dim, beautiful fernery, where the lamps glowed like stars, and the cool rippling water fell with a musical rhythm into the deep basin below. They could hear the distant sound of music from the ball-room. It was a time when love, if it lay in a man's heart, would spring, into sweet, sudden life.
"If he loves me," she said to herself, "he will tell me so now."
"I like this better than the ball-room," she said. "By the way, you have not told me if you like my dress?" she added, anxious to bring him to the one subject she had at heart. "Do you remember that when we were children, Norman, you used to criticise my dress?"
"Did I? It was very rude of me. I should not venture to criticise anything so marvelous now. It is a wonderful dress, Philippa; in the light it looks like moonbeams, in the shade like snow. Do you suppose I should ever have the courage to criticise anything so beautiful?"
"Do you really like it, Norman--without flattery?"
"I never flatter, Philippa, not even in jest; you should know that."
"I never heard you flatter," she acknowledged. "I took pains with my toilet, Norman, to please you; if it does so I am well content."
"There is another waltz," said Lord Arleigh; "we will go back to the ball-room."
"Make him love me!" she said to herself, in bitter disdain. "I might as well wish for one of the stars as for his love--it seems just as far off."