"Oh, Philippa," he cried, "I am so pleased, dear! And yet--yet, do you
know, I wish that you had not done it. It has given me a shock. I shall
never be quite sure whether you are jesting or serious. I shall never
feel that I really understand you."

"You will, Norman. It did seem so ridiculous for you, my old
playfellow, to sit lecturing me so gravely about matrimony. You took it
so entirely for granted that I did not care for the duke."

"And do you care for him, Philippa?" he asked.

"Can you doubt it, after the description you gave of him, Norman?"

"You are mocking me again, Philippa," he said.

"But you were very eloquent, Norman," she persisted. "I have never heard
any one more so. You painted his Grace of Hazlewood in such glowing
colors that no one could help falling in love with him."

"Did I? Well, I do think highly of him, Philippa. And so, after all, you
really care for him?"

"I do not think I shall tell you, Norman. You deserve to be kept in the
dark. Would you tell me if you found your ideal woman?"

"I would. I would tell you at once," he replied, eagerly.

"If you could but have seen your face!" she cried. "I feel tempted to
act the charade over again. Why, Norman, what likeness can you see