The opportunity that Lord Arleigh looked for came at last. Philippa had some reason to doubt the honesty of a man whom she had been employing as agent. She was kind of heart, and did not wish to punish him, yet she felt sure that he had not done his duty by her. To speak to her solicitors about it would be, she felt, injurious to him, whether innocent or guilty. If innocent, it would create a prejudice against him; if guilty, they would wish to punish him. She resolved upon laying the matter before Lord Arleigh, and seeing what he thought of it. He listened very patiently, examined the affair, and then told her that he believed she had been robbed. "What shall I do?" she asked, looking at him earnestly. "I know what you ought to do, Philippa. You ought to punish him." "But he has a wife, Norman, and innocent little children; in exposing him I shall punish them, and they are innocent." "That is one of the strangest of universal laws to me," said Lord Arleigh--"why the innocent always do, and always must, suffer for the guilty; it is one of the mysteries I shall never understand. Common sense tells me that you ought to expose this man--that he ought to be punished for what he has done. Yet, if you do, his wife and children will be dragged down into an abyss of misery. Suppose you make a compromise of matters and lecture him well." He was half smiling as he spoke, but she took every word in serious earnest. "Philippa," he continued, "why do you not marry? A husband would save you all this trouble; he would attend to your affairs, and shield you from annoyances of this kind." "The answer to your question, 'Why do I not marry?' Would form a long story," she replied, and then she turned the conversation. But he was determined to keep his word, and pleaded with her for the duke. Another opportunity came that evening. It was Lady Peters' birthday, and Philippa had invited some of her most intimate friends; not young people, but those with whom she thought her _chaperon_ would enjoy herself best. The result was a very pleasant dinner-party, followed by a very pleasant evening. Lord Arleigh could not be absent, for it was, in some measure, a family _fête_. The guests did not remain very late, and Lady Peters, professing herself tired with the exertions she had made, lay down on a couch, and was soon asleep. Philippa stood by the window with the rose-silk hangings drawn. "Come out on the balcony," she said to Lord Arleigh, "the room is very warm." It was night, but the darkness was silver-gray, not black. The sky above was brilliant with the gleam of a thousand stars, the moon was shining behind some silvery clouds, the great masses of foliage in the park were just stirred with the whisper of the night, and sweetest odors came from heliotrope and mignonnette; the brooding silence of the summer night lay over the land. Philippa sat down, and Lord Arleigh stood by her side.