they been talking about adding a new wing to the house. It was not until
he came to the years of manhood that he began to see how serious the
whole matter was. Then he remembered with infinite satisfaction that
there had been nothing binding, that he had never even mentioned the
word "love" to Philippa L'Estrange, that he had never made love to her,
that the whole matter was merely a something that had arisen in the
imagination of two ladies.

He was not in the least degree in love with Philippa. She was a
brunette--he preferred a blonde; brunette beauty had no charm for him.
He liked gentle, fair-haired women, tender of heart and soul--brilliancy
did not charm him. Even when, previously to going abroad, he had gone
down to Verdun Royal to say good-by, there was not the least approach to
love in his heart. He had thought Philippa very charming and very
picturesque as she stood under the lilac-trees; he had said truly that
he should never see a lilac without thinking of her as she stood there.
But that had not meant that he loved her.

He had bent down, as he considered himself in courtesy bound, to kiss
her face when he bade her adieu; but it was no lover's kiss that fell so
lightly on her lips. He realized to himself most fully the fact that,
although he liked her, cared a great deal for her, and felt that she
stood in the place of a sister to him, he did not love her.

But about Philippa herself? He was not vain; the proud, stately Lord
Arleigh knew nothing of vanity. He could not think that the childish
folly had taken deep root in her heart-he would not believe it. She had
been a child like himself; perhaps even she had forgotten the nonsense
more completely than he himself had. On his return to England, the first
thing he heard when he reached London was that his old friend and