LORD VIVIANNE PERPLEXED.
It was no wonder that when she reached Hyde House again Lady Studleigh
should look ill and exhausted; she had passed through a severe ordeal,
and no one but herself knew what it had cost her.
"One more such victory," she said to herself, "and I should be undone."
She lay back in one of the lounging-chairs, while Earle hastened to pour
out some wine for her.
"You look so tired, my darling," he murmured--"so tired. I wish we were
away from this great London, out in the fresh, fair country again,
Doris. Why, sweet, there are tears in your eyes!"
She looked so wistfully, so longingly at him--tears in the eyes he had
always seen so proud and bright. She bent her beautiful head on his
breast, longing with all her heart to tell him her terrible secret, her
dreadful trouble, yet not daring the least hint.
"They are tears of fatigue," she said--"real fatigue, Earle."
"I wish I were Earl of Linleigh for ten minutes," he said; "I would
forbid you to go out again, though you are queen of the season and belle
of St. James'."
"I should obey you," she replied; and then she bade him good-night, not
daring to say more, lest she should say too much.
She wanted to be alone, to collect her thoughts, to look her danger in
the face, to gather her forces together, and prepare to give the enemy
brave battle. It was a wonderful relief to her to find herself alone.
The worst had happened--she had seen him, he had seen her; he had looked
in her face, he had watched her intently, yet she felt quite sure he was
not certain of her identity--he fancied that he knew her, yet could not
for certain tell; so that the worst, she believed, was over. It might be
that he would talk to her, that he would try every little ruse and every
possible maneuver, but what would that matter? She would defeat him
again with her calm and her nonchalance, just as she had done this time.
Then he would assuredly give it up, and say no more about it--make up
his mind that he had been mistaken.
So she comforted herself with vague ideas, never dreaming that each hour
brought the somber face of tragedy nearer to her.
The next day was the Duchess of Eastham's ball, one of the best of the
season--one to which she had looked forward as a crowning triumph. A
night's rest, a natural facility for shaking off disagreeable thoughts,
a fixed reliance on her own kindly fate, all contributed to make her
throw off the dark cloud that oppressed her.
When she joined the earl and countess the following morning, her face
had regained its lost color and brightness, her eyes shone like stars,
her lips were wreathed with smiles.
"We shall have a large gathering to-night," said Lady Linleigh. "I hear
the Eastham ball is considered the best of the season; all the _elite_
of London will be there."
"Then Lord Vivianne is sure to be there," she thought. Her spirits rose
with the emergency. "I will look my best," she said to herself; "I will
dazzle him so completely in my splendor and magnificence that he shall
not dare even in thought to associate me with the Doris he knew."
She spent some hours of the bright, sunny morning in the park, smiling
to herself, as she thought what an old-fashioned recipe was fresh air
and exercise for keeping a brilliant bloom. She rested after lunch, and
spent some time in the evening combining jewels and flowers, so as to
form a marvelous effect. To her maid she said:
"Eugenie, I want to be the belle of the belles to-night; you must exert
all your skill."
The pretty Parisian stood with her head on one side, studying the face
and figure she had to adorn.
"What kind of style does my lady wish? Shall it be gay, brilliant?"
"Magnificent!" said Lady Studleigh, laughing. "I wish to be magnificent
as a queen--an empress!"
"It will not be difficult, my lady," was the smiling reply.
Nor did there appear to be any difficulty when she was dressed for the
ball. She looked every inch a queen. She wore a superb dress of white
brocade, embroidered with small golden flowers, the effect of which was
gorgeous in the extreme. Sometimes, and in certain lights, she looked
like a mass of gold, in others, like white creamy clouds. The firm white
throat was clasped with a diamond necklace, the Duke of Downsbury's
gift; large diamond ear rings hung from the pretty ears, a cross of
diamonds and sapphires gleamed on her white breast, the fair arms were
bound with diamonds, and she wore a circlet of diamonds in her hair.
Even her flowers matched her costume. They were fragrant white blossoms
of a rare plant, with tiny golden bells.
Eugenie wondered why the beautiful lady stood looking so long and
earnestly in the mirror. She was not admiring herself--no light of
gratified vanity came into her eyes, no flush of delight colored her
cheeks. She was examining herself gravely, critically, severely, trying
to estimate in her own mind the exact impression that she would produce
on others. Her thoughts were evidently favorable to herself. No one
looking at the beauty of that patrician face would dare to recognize her
as anything less lofty than she seemed to be. As for believing what Lord
Vivianne might say of her, who would do it?
Just as she had foreseen, she was the belle of the ball. The Duke of
Eastham selected her for the opening of it, and the evening was one long
ovation and triumph for her. Yet, though flattery and homage were all
round her, she never for one moment forgot her chief object, which was
looking for Lord Vivianne. She knew by instinct when he entered the
room; she saw him look round, and knew, as well as though he had told
her, that he was looking for her.
Now was the time! Her face flushed into rarest loveliness; her eyes grew
radiant. She had the world at her feet to-night. Let him come and do his
worst; she could defy him.
She saw him go up to the Duchess of Eastham, who listened to him with a
smile, then they both looked in her direction, and in a few minutes were
standing by her.
She never betrayed the least sign of fear. He looked curiously at her.
The light flashed in her jewels, but the diamonds lay quite still on the
white breast; the golden bells of the flowers never trembled.
In a few smiling words the duchess introduced Lord Vivianne to Lady
Studleigh. She bent her graceful head and smiled. He begged to know if
she had yet one dance to spare, and she answered "Yes." He listened
attentively to the voice; it was certainly like that of Doris, but he
fancied the accent was more silvery, more refined.
"It is very warm," she said, looking straight in his face; "I should
like an ice."
"Quite a happy inspiration," he replied, and they went away together.
If she felt the least tremor of fear she did not show it; she laughed
and talked quite gayly to him, with the simple innocence of a child, not
shrinking even in the least, while his eyes looked deep down into hers,
as though he would read every thought of her soul. If she had shrunk
from him--if she had shown the least fear--if she had avoided his
glance, refused to dance with him, he would have had more reason to
suspect her; as it was, he was fairly bewildered, and more than once he
called himself a simpleton for his suspicions. The bright, fearless
glance, the child-like smile, the frank gayety, would have puzzled a
wiser man than Lord Vivianne.
"I will try her," he thought. "If she be the girl who went to Italy with
me, I shall find it out."
He offered her his arm, so that he could feel her hand tremble, if
tremble it did. He began by admiring her bouquet.
"You have some very rare flowers there, Lady Studleigh," he said--"white
blossoms with golden bells; it is an exotic. Is it Indian or Italian?"
She looked at him with a frank smile.
"I am very ignorant," she said. "I love flowers very dearly, but I never
made them a study. Long Latin names frighten me."
"Yet it is a beautiful study," he said.
She laughed again.
"I believe, honestly," she said, "that if I knew, for instance, the
Latin and Greek name of this lovely flower, with its whole history, I
should not enjoy it half as much as I do now. That is a mystery to me."
"Do you like mysteries?" he asked, quickly.
"I can hardly tell; I think I should if I had one."
He looked into the very depths of her eyes--they were as clear and open
as the day.
"You are too frank to care for mystery," he said.
"Yes, frankness is what Lord Linleigh calls one of my failings."
"Why is it a failing?" he asked.
"Because I carry it to excess. I have an unfortunate habit of saying
whom I like, whom I dislike, what I care for, and what I do not care
for."
That frank _abandon_ was not much like the Doris he had known.
"That is very nice," he said; "I wish I dare ask if you are likely to
like me?"
"I will tell you when I know more of you," was the reply. "I have a
fashion of showing my liking, which I am quite sure is a little
_outre_."
"Have you ever been in Italy?" he asked, watching her intently as he
spoke.
If there had been the least change of color, if her eyes had drooped in
the least from his, he would have said: "Doris, I have found you!"
As it was, the only expression on her face was one of innocent surprise.
"In Italy?" she repeated. "Oh, yes, I finished my education there!"
He made no reply, but began to think to himself that he must indeed have
been mistaken. Then he talked to her about many things. Her answers gave
him the impression that she was very quick, very clever, but innocent,
almost with a child-like simplicity.
He had but one resource, one more question to ask, and if he were
baffled in that, he should be at a loss what to think. He gazed
earnestly into the beautiful face.
"Lady Studleigh," he said, "I cannot help fancying that I have seen you
before--that we have met before, and have been good friends. Is it so?"
There was no trace of emotion in her face--nothing but girlish surprise.
"Met before? I do not remember it, Lord Vivianne. I have been introduced
to so many strangers, it is possible I may have forgotten some. Still, I
think I should have remembered your name."
"It was not in London we met," he said. "Carry your memory back to last
year--only last year. Have you no place for me in it?"
"No," she replied, "I have not. Last year I spent at Linleigh Court.
Have I really seen you before, Lord Vivianne? Indeed, I apologize most
sincerely for not remembering you."
"It may be only a fancy," he said.
"But if you knew me, and knew that I ought to recognize you, why did you
ask for an introduction to me?" she asked, wonderingly.
"Because I was not sure," he replied, gloomily. "I am not sure now--I am
bewildered."
Then when he saw the surprise on her face deepen into annoyance, he
said:
"I beg your pardon. I did know some one once who was like you--oh, so
like you!--some one who made me very unhappy. That is our dance. Lady
Studleigh, smile, that I may know you have forgiven me."
She smiled, and they went away to the ball-room together.