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; a _parure_ of 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!"