DORIS AFFECTS A LITTLE CURIOSITY.
"You are not looking quite so well as usual this morning, Doris," said
Lady Linleigh. "You are nervous, too; you start at every sound. What is
wrong, dear?"
"Nothing," replied Lady Doris, "but that I did not sleep well. I had a
most unpleasant dream."
"What was it?" asked the countess.
"About Italy--about some one I knew, I saw there. Only a foolish dream,
and I am foolish to mention it."
"Of all people in the world, you are the last I ever should have
imagined to know what being nervous meant."
"I am not nervous," replied Lady Doris, quickly. "It would annoy me very
much to hear any one say so."
But though she indignantly denied the fact as being a very discreditable
one, she looked pale, and the laughing eyes had lost something of their
brightness. She started at every sound; and once, when a violent peal
from the bell sounded through the house, Lady Linleigh saw that she
dropped the book she was holding.
Much did the countess wonder what had affected her fair young daughter.
Yet it was such a trifle, such a foolish dream that had caused her to
stop for one moment in her career of triumph, and look at the possible
dangers in store for her.
She dreamed that she was walking in a pretty wood near Florence, when
suddenly the tall trees began to assume the most grotesque shapes; huge
branches became long arms, all trying to grasp her, leaves became
fingers trying to detain her. No sooner had she eluded the clutch of one
giant arm than another was stretched out toward her. In vain she tried
to elude them. Then she heard her own name called out in a voice which,
with a strange thrill of fear, she recognized as Lord Vivianne's. Then
she saw him standing underneath one of the giant arms, and he held a
long, shining knife in his hands.
"I have been looking for you for some time," he said; "now that I have
found you, I mean to kill you, because you were faithless to me."
She tried to escape, but the giant arms clutched her, the fingers
clasped round her, the shining steel flashed before her eyes, and she
awoke--awoke to feel such fear as she had never before known.
She took herself to task for it. Suppose that the worst should come,
that she had to meet him again! Was it likely that in this altered
position he would know her? It was most unlikely, most improbable.
Suppose that she met him in a ball-room--where it was most probable they
would meet--and they were introduced to each other as strangers! Well,
even then, she had nerve enough, courage enough, to look at him and fail
to recognize him. She would, at the worst, solemnly swear that he was
mistaken, and he--well, for his own sake, it was most improbable that he
would dare to mention the terms upon which they had lived. Nothing but
shame and dislike of all good people could follow such an avowal on his
part. It would do him ten thousand times more harm than good.
"So I need not fear," she said to herself. "I have no reason to be
afraid, even if I should meet him face to face to-day!"
She did not feel the least regret or remorse for her sin. For her lost
innocence, her fair fame, her soul's welfare, she cared but little--yet
she would have given much if she had avoided this wrong, not because it
was wrong, but because the penalty of it might be unpleasant.
In the bright heaven of her full content it was the one dark cloud; to
the full glory of her most brilliant triumph it was the one drawback.
Ah! if they knew--if the royal hearts that leaned so kindly toward her
even dreamed of what she had been--farewell to her sweet dream of court
favor. If the innocent young princess who had professed so much liking
for her only ever so faintly suspected one half of the horrible truth,
farewell to all kindly words! Why, if the handsome earl, her father,
dreamed of it, he would send her adrift at once!
She shrugged her white shoulders and said to herself, over and over
again, that she must keep her secret. When she was once married, her
fortune assured--settled upon her beyond recall--then it would not
matter so much. Besides, there were ways out of all difficulties. She
held up her white, jeweled hands and looked steadfastly at them.
"Smaller, weaker fingers than these have robbed a man of his life," she
said to herself. "If the worst comes, I have an example in history that
I should know how to follow."
And indeed it would have fared badly with any one who stood in the path
of Lady Doris Studleigh.
There was a great dinner that evening at Hyde House. A Russian grand
duke, a German prince, and just the very _elite_ of London were among
those present. The Countess of Linleigh was a perfect hostess; and in
Lady Doris Studleigh's bright presence there was never any want of
brilliancy or wit.
It was Lord Charter who mentioned her lover's name. He turned to Lord
Linleigh and asked him if he had seen Lord Charles Vivianne lately.
Lady Doris was sitting near him, so that she distinctly heard the
question and answer.
"Lord Vivianne!" replied the earl. "I do not even know him."
"I had forgotten," said his questioner, "how long you have been absent
from England; of course you would not know him."
"It seems to me," said the earl, laughing, "that a whole generation of
young men have come into fashion since I left the country. I do not
recollect having ever seen Lord Vivianne. Why do you ask me?"
"I heard him say how anxious he was to be introduced to you," replied
Lord Charter.
"I shall be very happy," replied the earl, indifferently.
She had listened at the very first sound of that name which she had
grown to hate so cordially; all her attention had been fully aroused.
"Now for the Studleigh courage," she said to herself, and she listened.
The color did not fade from her beautiful face; her lips never lost
their smile, nor her eyes their light.
When Lord Charter had finished his conversation with the earl, she
turned to him in the most winning manner.
"Vivianne, did you say? What a pretty name! Is it English?"
"Yes," he replied. "Most ladies admire the name and the bearer of it."
"Is he a great hero?" she asked, her eyes bright with interest and
innocence as she raised them to his face. "Is he a great statesman?"
"No," was the reply; "I am sorry to say he is a great flirt."
"A flirt!" she repeated, in a voice full of disappointment. "I thought
you meant that he was some one to be admired."
"So he is admired, for his handsome face," replied Lord Charter.
She repeated the name again, as though she were saying it softly to
herself.
"Is there a Lady Vivianne?" she asked, after a pause.
"Not yet," was the reply; "but from what I hear there is a prospect of
one." Then he laughed a little. "You are a stranger among us, Lady
Studleigh; you will hardly understand that, at one time or another,
almost every prominent man in London has been jealous of Lord Vivianne."
"Indeed! He must be a paragon, then."
There was something of a sneer in her voice, but he did not perceive it.
"Not exactly a paragon, Lady Studleigh; but--I repeat it--a flirt."
"And he is to be married, you say? I should not imagine the lot to be a
very bright one for the lady."
"You take things very literally, Lady Studleigh. I cannot vouch for the
fact that he is going to be married, but there is a rumor afloat that we
all enjoy very much. It is that, after flirting half his lifetime, Lord
Vivianne is caught at last."
She tried to look politely indifferent. Great heavens! how her heart was
beating, how every nerve thrilled, how intense was the excitement! She
had not known how frightened she had been at the idea of meeting him
until now!
"I am afraid," said Lord Charter, "that you do not take any interest in
my friend."
"Yes, I do. To whom has he surrendered his liberty at last?"
"No one knows," was the answer, given with an air of candor that would
at any other time have greatly amused Lady Doris. "There is a mystery
about it. Lord Vivianne has been spending some little time in Florence,
and there it is supposed he fell in love with a princess in disguise."
Despite the Studleigh courage and her own strong nerve, she could not
prevent herself from growing pale; her heart beat loud with a terrible
fear; the lights seemed to swim in one confused mass before her eyes;
then with a violent effort she controlled herself.
"Florence," she repeated; "he went far enough afield for his romance.
Why was the princess disguised?"
"It may be all nonsense. I have heard many different stories; some say
that his heroine was really a person of low birth and humble position. I
cannot tell; I only know one thing."
How her heart beat as she repeated those two words.
"One thing! What is it?"
"Why, that love, or something else, has quite changed Lord Charles
Vivianne. He used to be gay, good-humored, slightly cynical; now he is
gloomy, sullen, and bad-tempered. I heard a friend of his say that he
seemed to be always looking for some one."
The beautiful face, in spite of all her efforts, grew paler.
"Looking for some one! What a strange idea!" she said.
"Perhaps the lady refused him, and he wants to be revenged. Perhaps she
jilted him, and he is looking for her," laughed Lord Charter, little
dreaming how near he was to the truth.
If it had been to save her life, she could not have uttered another
word. Lord Charter went on to relate some brilliant anecdotes of people
he knew, and she affected to be engrossed in them, although she did not
know one word that he was saying. Then, when he paused, she said:
"It is a strange world, this London; it seems to me full of hidden
romances."
"You will say so when you have been here for a few years longer," he
replied. "I have seen far stranger romances in the lives of my own
friends and acquaintances than I have ever read in books."
She was mistress of herself now; the first deadly pain of fear had
passed; her heart had ceased to beat so quickly; the color came back to
her lips and face. She wished to make a good impression on this Lord
Charter, so that if he spoke of her to her former lover, he could praise
her simplicity, her innocence, her ignorance of the world and its evil
ways. That would be altogether unlike the cynical, worldly Doris he had
known.
Most admirably she assumed the character; indeed, her proper vocation
would have been the stage--she could play any part at a moment's notice.
As he looked at her beautiful face, her bright, clear eyes, the sweet
smiles that played around her perfect lips--as he listened to the low,
musical voice, admired the high-bred simplicity, the innocence that was
a charm, the utter want of all worldly knowledge--Lord Charter said to
himself that he had never met such a wonderful creature before; while
she congratulated herself on the impression she had made.