"A love-story always interests me; will you tell me yours?"
"I have none," was the quick reply. "Earle Moray asked me to marry him, and I said yes."
"But you love him?" asked Lady Estelle.
"Yes, I love him—at least I suppose so. I do not know what love is; but I imagine I love him."
"You do not know what love is?" said Lady Estelle, in a tone of suppressed vehemence. "I will tell you. It is a fire that burns and pains—burns and pains; it is a torrent that destroys everything in its way; it is a hurricane that sweeps over every obstacle; it is a tempest in which the ship is forever and ever tossed; it is the highest bliss, the deepest misery! Oh, child! pray, pray that you may never know what love is!"
Who could have recognized the quiet, graceful, languid Lady Estelle? Her face shone like flame, and her eyes flashed fire—the calm, proud repose was all gone. Doris looked at her in wonder.
"There must be many kinds of love. I know nothing of that which you describe, and Earle loves me quite differently."
"How does he love you?" asked Lady Estelle.
"He is always singing to me, and these are his favorite lines:
"'Thou art my life, my soul, my heart,
The very eyes of me;
Thou hast command of every part,
To live and die for thee.'