“What is it, dear Jeffrey?” she asked.
“Look! look!” he repeated hoarsely. “There stands your greatest enemy, save one! Your greatest enemy in the world! Look at him, Doris! Look at him and remember him!”
She turned her eyes to the box.
“That fair gentleman with the long hair, do you mean, Jeffrey?”
“Yes, that is him! Curse him! Curse him!” he muttered. Then suddenly he seemed to recover himself.
“Come away!” he said brokenly. “Don’t pay any attention to what I have said. It—it is nothing!” and he let the edge of the curtain fall.
CHAPTER XI.
LOVE’S SUBTLE SPELL.
At any other time Doris would have been alarmed at Jeffrey’s sudden outburst of rage, occasioned by the sight of the amiable-looking stranger in the box, but she could think of nothing but the little white note lying hidden in the bunch of violets which Lord Cecil Neville had thrown to her.
It was the first note she had received in that way, and she felt guilty and unhappy.