"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."

"So she is of mine; and I love her the more for the womanly outburst of