place, as he would have asked his own brother. If the duke could not
attend opera or ball, Lord Arleigh was at hand. He often said it was a
matter of perplexity to him which was his own home--whether he liked
Beechgrove, Verdun Royal or Vere Court best.

"No one was ever so happy, so blessed with true friends as I am," he
would say; at which speech the young duchess would smile that strange
fathomless smile so few understood.

If they went to Vere Court, Lord Arleigh was generally asked to go with
them; the Duke really liked him--a great deal for his own sake, more
still for the sake of his wife. He could understand the childish
friendship having grown with their growth; and he was too noble to
expect anything less than perfect sincerity and truth.

The duchess kept her word. She made no further allusion to the Puritan
maiden--that little episode had, so it appeared, completely escaped her
memory. There was one thing to be noticed--she often read the "Lady of
Lyons," and appeared to delight in it. When she had looked through a few
pages, she would close the book with a sigh and a strange, brooding
smile. At times, too, she would tease Lord Arleigh about his ideal woman
but that was always in her husband's presence.

"You have not found the ideal woman yet, Norman?" she would ask him,
laughingly; and he would answer. "No, not yet."

Then the duke would wax eloquent, and tell him that he really knew
little of life--that if he wanted to be happy he must look for a wife.

"You were easily contented," the duchess would say. "Norman wants an