"Perhaps," said the colonel, laughingly, "we should come to some surer conclusion if you would tell me whom you imagine it to be?"
Lord Vivianne looked impatiently at him.
"I did not say that I imagined her to be any one else," he replied, hastily. "So that is really the young beauty over whom just at present London is losing its head?"
"You are right. If you would like an introduction to the earl, my brother is here; he knows him well. What do you think of Lady Studleigh? Report has not exaggerated her beauty?"
"What do I think of her? I will tell you, Clifford, when I have spoken to her, not before."
"You are difficult to please if she does not please you."
"I—I cannot help thinking I have seen some one like her," he said, slowly. "I wonder if I am right?"
"Hardly; it is not a common type of face. You may have done so: I have not."
Colonel Clifford dearly loved gossip. If he had found Lord Vivianne in a better temper, he would have told him the romance of the earl's marriage, and how his daughter was brought up in a very different position of life to that she now occupied. As it was, he did not tell him, feeling that his lordship lacked civility; so it happened that not until long afterward did Lord Charles hear the story that would have solved many of his doubts.
He sat and watched her, sometimes so convinced of her identity that he could have called out "Doris:" again, wondering how he could be so foolish as to imagine he had found his lost love in Lord Linleigh's daughter. He could not take him eyes from the beautiful face. He longed to hear her speak, to see if the voice was that of Doris: he remembered its low, sweet music so well; if he could hear her speak, he would be a thousand times more sure.