"It is your face," said Earle, impatiently. "What do men care for jewels or for flowers?"
"Who is he, Earle? Where is he? Is it any one I know?"
"I should imagine that it is some one you know, who is waiting for some sign of recognition from you," said Earle. "You cannot fail to see him, Doris, in the center box on the second tier. He seems to be a tall, handsome man; he wears a white japonica. His glass is turned straight upon you."
"I cannot return the compliment and look fixedly at him," she said, "but I will take one glance at him, and see if I know him."
Calmly, slowly, deliberately, yet with the fire and hate of fury burning in her heart, she laid down her dainty bouquet; she took up the jeweled opera-glass, held it for a moment lightly balanced in her hand, then, with a calm, proud smile, raised it to her eyes.
Oh, heavens! that the first glimpse of those dark eyes, looking fire into her own, did not kill her. Her heart gave a terrible bound; she could have cried aloud in her agony, and have died; but the Studleigh nerve was uppermost, the Studleigh courage in full play; her hands did not tremble, nor her lips quiver. Quite calmly she looked, as though she saw a stranger for the first time, and even then a stranger who did not interest her. She laid down the glass, and turned to Earle, with a smile.
"I do not know the gentleman; I have not seen him before."
At that same moment he who had been watching her with such eager interest made her a low bow.
"He appears to recognize you," said Earle; "he is bowing to you."
She did not make even the least acknowledgment in return.