"I am trying to persuade you to accept what seems to me one of the happiest lots ever offered to woman. I want to see you the Duke of Hazlewood's wife. I cannot imagine any man more calculated to win a woman's love, or to please her fancy, than he is. He is young, handsome, noble in face and figure as he is in heart and soul; and he is clever and gifted." "Yes," she allowed, slowly, "he is all that, Norman." "Some day or other he will be the leading spirit in the land; he will be the head of a great party." "That I believe," she agreed. "And he loves you so well, Philippa; I have never seen a man more devoted. How many years has he loved you now--two or three? And he tells me that he shall go unmarried to the grave unless you consent to be his wife." "Did he tell you that? He must indeed be attached to me," she observed. "Norman, did he ask you to say all this to me?" "He asked me to plead his cause," replied Lord Arleigh. "Why did he ask you to do so?" "Because--believing us to be what we really are, Philippa, tried and true friends--he thought I should have some influence over you." "Clever duke!" she said. "Norman, are you well versed in modern poetry?" He looked up in blank surprise at the question--it was so totally unexpected. "In modern poetry?" he repeated. "Yes, I think I am. Why, Philippa?" "I will tell you why," she said, turning her beautiful face to him. "If you will be patient, I will tell you why." She was silent for a few minutes, and then Lord Arleigh said: "I am patient enough, Philippa; will you tell me why?" The dark eyes raised to his had in them a strange light--a strange depth of passion. "I want to know if you remember the beautiful story of Priscilla, the Puritan maiden," she said, in a tremulous voice--the loveliest maiden of Plymouth?" "You mean the story of Miles Standish," he corrected. "Yes, I remember it, Philippa." "That which a Puritan maiden could do, and all posterity sing her praises for, surely I--a woman of the world--may do without blame. Do you remember, Norman, when John Alden goes to her to do the wooing which the stanch soldier does not do for himself--do you remember her answer? Let me give you the verse-- "'But, as he warmed and glowed in his simple and eloquent language, Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, Archly the maiden smiled, and with eyes overrunning with laughter, Said in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?"'" The sweet musical voice died away in the starlight, the wind stirred the crimson roses--silence, solemn and deep, fell over Lord Arleigh and his companion. Philippa broke it. "Surely you, in common with all of us, admire the Puritan maiden, Norman?" "Yes, I do admire her," he answered; "she is one of my favorite heroines."