Chapter XI.



Captain Greshan sprang forward to lift the flowers which Miss L'Estrange
had dropped.

"Nay," she said, "never mind them. A fresh flower is very nice. A flower
that has once been in the dust has lost its beauty."

There was no trace of pain in the clear voice; it was rich and musical.
Philippa L'Estrange, seated in the bright sunshine, heard the words
that were to her a death-warrant, yet made no sign. "I have not yet met
with my ideal," Lord Arleigh had said.

Captain Gresham picked up some of the fallen flowers.

"A dead flower from your hand, Miss L'Estrange," he observed "is worth a
whole gardenful of living ones from any one else."

She laughed again that sweet musical laugh which seemed to come only
from a happy heart; and then she looked round. The Duchess of Aytoun and
Lord Arleigh were still in deep converse. Miss L'Estrange turned to
Captain Gresham.

"I have been told," she said, "that there are some beautiful white
hyacinths here; they are my favorite flowers. Shall we find them?"