A TERRIBLE TRIAL.
"Earle," said Lady Doris, "it seems so long since you left me."
She was standing in the ball-room with the countess. Her late partner,
Lord Vivianne, had gone to fulfill his engagement elsewhere.
"It seems so long," she repeated.
And Earle, who knew every tone of her voice, detected something
unusually sad in it. His face grew bright with happiness that she had
missed him.
"I saw you dancing with the gentleman who admired you so greatly the
other evening," he replied. "You seemed so interested in his
conversation that I never dreamed you would miss me."
"He has tried me so, Earle," she said, gently. "Before I can enjoy
myself again, I must go somewhere and rest for a few minutes. Where
shall we go?"
Earle silently placed the little white hand on his arm, and led the way
to a brilliantly-lighted conservatory, where the rippling of the
fountain mingled with the songs of tamed birds. There was no one else in
that spacious fragrant place. He drew a chair to one of the fountains
and placed her in it. She drew a deep breath of unutterable relief, as
one who had passed through mortal peril and escaped it. Looking at her,
Earle saw that her beautiful face was ghastly white; the eyes she raised
to him were dim and shadowed with horror.
"Earle," she said, with a faint attempt at a smile, "I do not look much
like the belle of the ball now, do I?"
He was full of concern.
"Not much," he replied. "What is the matter, darling?--what has made you
ill? I have thought so often lately that you looked ill and unlike
yourself."
She tried to smile, but the expression on her face belied the smile.
"I never did faint in my life," she said--"it is an achievement quite
beyond me--but I feel much inclined to do the deed now. Earle, fetch
some brandy for me."
"Brandy!" he repeated. "Wine would be better, my darling; brandy is very
strong."
"Wine tastes like water," she said. "I want something that is all
fire--all fire! to make me strong. Be quick, Earle--be quick! I have to
dance with Prince Poermal before supper. I would not be seen looking
like this for all the wide world!"
"I do not like leaving you alone," said Earle.
"No one will come here," she said impatiently. "That is the 'Elisir
d'Amor' waltz--no one will miss us. Go quickly, Earle."
He bent down and kissed the pale face, then he went quickly to the
buffet, poured some brandy in a small glass and carried it to her. She
sat just as he had left her--the white arms had fallen listlessly by her
side, the white blossoms with the golden bells lay at her feet. Earle
thought she looked like some one whose whole strength had been expended
in a dire struggle.
"Doris," he said, gently, "drink this dear."
She raised her head and drank the brandy as though it had been so much
water. He looked at her in wonder. Then the color slowly returned to her
face.
"I understand, Earle," she said, "now, for the first time, why people
take to drinking."
There was something so strange in her manner that Earle felt almost
frightened.
"Do not talk in that fashion, my darling," he said. "I cannot endure to
hear you. Sweet lips like yours should not utter such words."
She laughed; her lips were quite red now, and there was color in her
face.
"I can understand it," she repeated, laughingly. "When you brought that
to me I was almost dead--it seemed to me that all strength had left me,
all the life in me was freezing; now I am warm, living, and well. The
next time I feel ill I shall take brandy."
He did not know whether she were laughing or not, whether she meant the
words seriously or not, but they impressed him most disagreeably.
"Doris," he said, gravely, "never do that. You are only jesting, I know,
dear, and this unhealthy style of life will soon be over for you. You
exhaust your strength by over-doses of gayety and excitement. Do not fly
to stimulants to restore it; you could not do anything more fatal."
She laughed.
"Of course I am jesting. This is a rest to sit here with you. Lord
Vivianne tired me so dreadfully." She shuddered as with cold, and laid
her head back on the chair. "How is it, Earle, that some people are so
disagreeable and others so nice?"
Earle laughed, so happy to think that she called him nice.
"Which is Lord Vivianne?" he asked.
"Oh, disagreeable, you may be sure of that. See how he has tired me."
"But the world in general considers him a very agreeable man," said
Earle.
"I do not. We will not talk of him. Say something very loving and very
pleasant to me, Earle, that will send all tiresome thoughts out of my
mind."
"You have no right with tiresome thoughts. What are they? Tell me them,"
he said.
She laughed, but the laugh was a sigh.
"What tiresome thoughts can I have, Earle, except that I regret youth
and pleasure are not immortal? I can have no other. Say something loving
to me, Earle."
He bent over her and whispered words that brought a sweet, bright blush
to her face; then she stood up.
"Now give me my flowers, Earle."
He did so, shaking the little golden bells.
"Do I look bright and brilliant again?" she asked--"like the belle of
the ball?"
"Yes, bright as the morning star."
"Now for Prince Poermal and some sugared German compliments," she said.
And they returned to the ball-room.
The prince, all smiles, all gallantry, all devotion, came up to claim
her hand. Earle watched her as she danced with him; she was all smiles,
all brightness, all light. She talked gayly, she laughed, and the prince
appeared to be charmed with her.
Earle wondered more and more. Was it possible this brilliant, beautiful
girl was the one he had seen so short a time before, white, cold, and
silent, as though some terrible trouble lay over her. He saw what
universal admiration she excited; how many admiring glances followed
her; he saw that in that brilliant assembly there was no one to compare
with her, and he wondered at his own good fortune in winning so peerless
a creature. Yet he felt that there was something strange about her,
something that he could not understand. Her spirits were strangely
unequal; one minute she was all fire, animation, and excitement, the
next dull and absent. He tried to account for it all by saying to
himself the life was new to her--new and very strange--and it was only
natural that she should feel strange in it.
Later on in the evening, when the brilliant ball was almost over, Lord
Vivianne sought Lady Studleigh again.
"I am going to ask a great favor," he said; "it is that I may be
permitted to call. I have had the pleasure of an introduction to the
Earl of Linleigh."
"I shall be much pleased," she replied, indifferently--so indifferently
that he could not possibly tell whether she were pleased or otherwise.
"Shall you remain much longer in town?" he asked, determined to keep up
a conversation with her.
"I hope so," she replied. "I think London is incomparable; I cannot
imagine any other life half so delightful."
"You should see Paris," he said, looking earnestly at her.
"Yes, I should like to see court life in Paris. I was there as a child,
but, as a matter of course, I have no knowledge of French society. I was
too young to know much about it."
"You must try to spend some time there; there is a brilliancy about
French society that we do not find in England."
She looked as politely indifferent as possible, not sufficiently so to
offend him, but enough to show him that she felt no great interest in
the conversation. He could not find any excuse for delaying any longer,
but he left her with the determination to see her again as soon as
possible.
"The ball has been a brilliant success," said the earl. "Have you
enjoyed it, Doris?"
"Yes," she replied, "I liked Prince Poermal, and I liked the Duke of
Eastham, but I did not like all my partners."
Lord Linleigh laughed.
"That is hardly to be supposed," he said. "If it be not a rude question,
which of them did your ladyship dislike?"
"Dislike is too strong a word, papa. I did not care about Lord Vivianne;
he tired me very much. How can people admire him?"
"You do not like him?" said the earl. "I suppose it does not much
matter, but I am rather sorry. He seemed to take a great fancy to me,
and pressed me to try shooting with him. If you do not like him, I shall
not."
She laughed.
"There is no need for that, papa: it does not quite follow that because
he is not to my taste, he is not to yours, does it?"
"No; but he spoke of calling on us, and did his best to make me
understand that he wished to be on visiting terms with us."
"Why not?" she asked, indolently.
"If you do not like him, Doris, I should never care to see him inside
our doors."
"I do not like him as a partner, papa; perhaps as a visitor to the house
I might like him very well indeed. He tired me with his incessant
questions and compliments."
"Perhaps he was very much charmed with you," said the earl, laughingly.
"I must say, no one ever showed a greater desire to be on intimate terms
with me than he did. I asked him to dine on Thursday--the Bishop of
Lingham is coming--and we shall see if he improves upon acquaintance."
"He seemed to me very polite and pleasing," said the countess, quietly.
And then they spoke no more of Lord Vivianne, but Lady Studleigh thought
of him incessantly. She had made the greatest effort, which was talking
to him, parrying his questions, assuming a part, and carrying it on for
some time. She had said to herself that the danger was averted, that she
had no more to fear, but she found that she was wrong. In his eyes she
read a fixed determination to know her--a doubt that all her skill had
not been able to solve, all her talent had not prevented. She felt this;
she understood that although he had seemed to acquiesce in all she said,
in his own mind suspicion still lingered.