le difference; her voice seemed to take
another tone in addressing him, her face another expression as though
she regarded him as one quite apart from all others.

The dinner-party was a success, as was every kind of entertainment with
which Philippa L'Estrange was concerned. When the visitors rose to take
their leave, Norman rose also. She was standing near him.

"Do not go yet, Norman," she said; "it is quite early. Stay, and I will
sing to you."

She spoke in so low a tone of voice that no one else heard her. He was
quite willing. Where could he feel more at home than in this charming
drawing-room, with this beautiful girl, his old friend and playmate?

She bade adieu to her visitors, and then turned to him with such a smile
as might have lost or won Troy.

"I thought they would never go," she said; "and it seems to me that I
have barely exchanged one word with you yet, Norman."

"We have talked many hours," he returned, laughing.

"Ah, you count time by the old fashion, hours and minutes. I forget it
when I am talking to one I--to an old friend like you."

"You are enthusiastic," said Lord Arleigh, wondering at the light on the
splendid face.

"Nay, I am constant," she rejoined.

And for a few minutes after that silence reigned between them. Philippa
was the first to break it.

"Do you remember," she asked, "that you used to praise my voice, and
prophesy that I should sing well?"

"Yes, I remember," he replied.

"I have worked hard at my music," she continued, "in the hope of
pleasing you."

"In the hope of pleasing me?" he interrogated. "It was kind to think so
much of me."

"Of whom should I think, if not of you?" she inquired.

There were both love and reproach in her voice--he heard neither. Had he
been as vain as he was proud, he would have been quicker to detect her
love for himself.

The windows had been opened because the evening air was so clear and
sweet; it came in now, and seemed to give the flowers a sweeter
fragrance. Lord Arleigh drew his chair to the piano.

"I want you only to listen," she said. "You will have no turning over to
do for me; the songs I love best I know by heart. Shut your eyes,
Norman, and dream."

"I shall dream more vividly if I keep them open and look at you," he
returned.

Then in a few minutes he began to think he must be in dream-land--the
rich, sweet voice, so clear, so soft, so low, was filling the room with
sweetest music. It was like no human voic