"I cannot tell. He is a man of honor. He would not make love to her without intending to marry her."
"But there is not a better family in England than the Arleighs of Beechgrove, Philippa. It would be terrible for him--such a mésalliance; surely he will never dream of it."
"She is beautiful, graceful, gifted, and good," was the rejoinder. "But it is useless for us to argue about the matter. He has said nothing about marrying her; he has only called her his ideal."
"I cannot understand it," said poor Lady Peters. "It seems strange to me."
She would have thought it stranger still if she had followed them and heard what Lord Arleigh was saying.
He had followed Madaline to the southern wall, whereon the luscious peaches and apricots grew. He found her, as the duchess had intimated, busily engaged in choosing the ripest and best. He thought he had never seen a fairer picture than this golden-haired girl standing by the green leaves and rich fruit. He thought of Tennyson's "Gardener's daughter."
"One arm aloft---- Gowned in pure white that fitted to the shape--
Holding the bush, to fix it back, she stood.
The full day dwelt on her brows and sunned
Her violet eyes, and all her Hebe bloom,
And doubled his own warmth against her lips,
And on the beauteous wave of such a breast
As never pencil drew. Half light, half shade,
She stood, a sight to make an old man young."
He repeated the lines as he stood watching her, and then he went nearer and called:
"Madaline!"
Could he doubt that she loved him? Her fair face flushed deepest crimson; but, instead of turning to him, she moved half coyly, half shyly away.