e read that sweetest and saddest of all love
stories--'Romeo and Juliet?' Did _Juliet_ think it strange that, so soon
after seeing her, _Romeo_ should be willing to give his life for her?"

"No, it did not seem strange to them," she replied, with a smile; "but
it is different with us. This is the nineteenth century, and there are
no _Juliets_."

"There are plenty of _Romeos_, though," he remarked, laughingly. "The
sweetest dreams in my life are the briefest. Will you pluck one of those
roses for me and give it to me, saying, 'I promise to be your friend?'"

"You make me do things against my will," she said; but she plucked a
rose, and held it toward him in her hand. "I promise to be your friend,"
she said, gently.

Lord Arleigh kissed the rose. As he did so their eyes met; and it would
have been hard to tell which blushed the more deeply. After that,
meetings between them became more frequent. Lord Arleigh made seeing her
the one great study of his life--and the result was what might be
imagined.

Chapter XVIII.

The yacht of Mr. Conyers, one of the richest commoners in England--a
yacht fitted as surely no yacht ever before had been fitted--was for
sale. He was a wealthy man, but to keep that sea-palace afloat was
beyond his means. The Duchess of Hazlewood was sole mistress of a large
fortune in her own right; the duke had made most magnificent settlements
upon her. She had a large sum of money at her command; and the idea
suddenly occurred to her to purchase Mr. Conyers' yacht unknown to her
husband and present him with it. He was fond of yachting--it was his
favorite amusement. She herself was a wretched sailor, and would not be
able to accompany him; but that would not matter. It was not of her own
pleasure that the Duchess of Hazlewood was thinking, while the old
strange brooding smile lingered on her beautiful face and deepened on
her perfect lips.

"It would be the very thing," she said to herself, "it would afford to
me the opportunity I am seeking--nothing could be better."

She purchased the yacht and presented it to the duke, her husband. His
pleasure and astonishment were unbounded. She was, as a rule, so
undemonstrative that he could not thank her sufficiently for what seemed
to him her great interest in his favorite pursuit.

"The only drawback to the splendid gift, Philippa, is that you can never
enjoy it; it will take me away from you."

"Yes, I do indeed deplore that I am a wretched