"We shall have a large gathering to-night," said Lady Linleigh. "I hear the Eastham ball is considered the best of the season; all the elite of London will be there."
"Then Lord Vivianne is sure to be there," she thought. Her spirits rose with the emergency. "I will look my best," she said to herself; "I will dazzle him so completely in my splendor and magnificence that he shall not dare even in thought to associate me with the Doris he knew."
She spent some hours of the bright, sunny morning in the park, smiling to herself, as she thought what an old-fashioned recipe was fresh air and exercise for keeping a brilliant bloom. She rested after lunch, and spent some time in the evening combining jewels and flowers, so as to form a marvelous effect. To her maid she said:
"Eugenie, I want to be the belle of the belles to-night; you must exert all your skill."
The pretty Parisian stood with her head on one side, studying the face and figure she had to adorn.
"What kind of style does my lady wish? Shall it be gay, brilliant?"
"Magnificent!" said Lady Studleigh, laughing. "I wish to be magnificent as a queen—an empress!"
"It will not be difficult, my lady," was the smiling reply.
Nor did there appear to be any difficulty when she was dressed for the ball. She looked every inch a queen. She wore a superb dress of white brocade, embroidered with small golden flowers, the effect of which was gorgeous in the extreme. Sometimes, and in certain lights, she looked like a mass of gold, in others, like white creamy clouds. The firm white throat was clasped with a diamond necklace, the Duke of Downsbury's gift; large diamond ear rings hung from the pretty ears, a cross of diamonds and sapphires gleamed on her white breast, the fair arms were bound with diamonds, and she wore a circlet of diamonds in her hair. Even her flowers matched her costume. They were fragrant white blossoms of a rare plant, with tiny golden bells.
Eugenie wondered why the beautiful lady stood looking so long and earnestly in the mirror. She was not admiring herself—no light of gratified vanity came into her eyes, no flush of delight colored her cheeks. She was examining herself gravely, critically, severely, trying to estimate in her own mind the exact impression that she would produce on others. Her thoughts were evidently favorable to herself. No one looking at the beauty of that patrician face would dare to recognize her as anything less lofty than she seemed to be. As for believing what Lord Vivianne might say of her, who would do it?