The soft, white arms tightened their clasp round the fair neck.
"Doris," said the countess, gently, "could you not fancy that I am your mother, and talk to me as freely as you would have done to her?"
The lovely face was raised with an arch glance.
"Dear Lady Linleigh," was the reply, "I am only sentimentalizing. Did you think me serious? I have no secrets. I should not know what to say to my own mother were she here. Do not take any notice of my idle words." Then she laughed. "I could never, even in my dreams, put you in my mother's place. I have a shrewd idea that my handsome papa married some poor, pretty girl for her beauty's sake—you are the daughter of a mighty duke. A truce to sentiment! Why, Lady Linleigh, your eyes are wet with tears! We were talking of the opera—I must go to it. It is 'Ernani' this evening, and I have the music."
"Earle will go with us, of course," said the countess.
She had unclasped her arms from the girl's neck, and had gone over to the little writing-table, beating back her emotion with a strong hand.
"Yes," laughed Lady Doris, "Earle will go. Earle is rapidly becoming a popular man. I am not quite sure whether I ought not to be jealous of him. The Marchioness of Meriton positively introduced him to Lady Eleanor yesterday, and declared him to be a 'most promising young man!'"
Lady Linleigh laughed at the perfect mimicry of voice and accent.
"I see no one to compare with Earle," she said, at length, "and I think you are a very fortunate girl, Doris."
"To tell the truth, I am well satisfied with my good fortune, and with Earle," she said, quietly, as in good sooth she was. She even wondered at herself, but the truth was she was growing passionately fond of Earle.