"How dreadful! You are quite a tragedy hero, Lord Vivianne." She laughed as she spoke, and shrugged her shoulders. "Suppose this lady of whom you speak should be like you, and say the same thing—that she would rather kill you than marry you. What then?"
"Why, then we should fight it out to the bitter end."
"Here is the duchess," said Lady Studleigh, calmly. "Mind, Lord Vivianne, I do not think you have done the wisest thing in trusting a stranger, like myself, with your secrets; however, your confidence in me shall not be misplaced, I will keep them."
Then the duchess and Lady Linleigh joined them. He remained with them, affecting to talk to them, but secretly engaged in watching Lady Doris. But it was all in vain. There was no trace of thought or care on her face. She talked and laughed gayly, as though he had not spoken a word; the only thing was, that in her manner to him he detected a gentle pity that she had not shown before.
"I must be mistaken," he said to himself. "Eyesight, hearing, memory, all must be wrong—all must have failed me; but—she could not possibly be playing a part—she cannot be my lost Dora. No woman could be so utterly indifferent. I must be mistaken, but I will find it out!"
CHAPTER LXVI.
A LITTLE ARTIFICE.
It did not occur to Lady Doris that in all probability Lord Vivianne would recognize Earle. He had seen him once, and once only—that was walking with her, near Brackenside. But his lordship had no eyes then to spare for the rustic lover. He had also known his name—Earle Moray—but he was proverbially careless, forgetful and indifferent. It was a question whether he had paid the least heed to it, not thinking it could even interest him.
On the day of the dinner party at Hyde House it had occurred to her that they would meet. They had both been at the Duchess of Eastham's ball, but in a crowded ball-room even friends often failed to recognize each other. How would it be when they met in the same room, dined at the same table? People would be sure to make some allusion to Earle's poems, some one would be sure to mention Downsbury Castle, then Earle would join in and she would be lost. She might, by her indifference, make him believe that he was mistaken: but if he once found out who Earle was, and that Earle was still her lover, she could blind him no longer. Had she met him only at rare intervals, she might have continued to mislead him. Had she met him casually in society, she could have carried on her deception until it was too late for him to injure her. But now that he was coming, as it were, into the very heart of her home, she had less chance.
If he found out about Earle, he would find out about her, too. Then—well, suppose it came, this discovery that she dreaded so terribly, what would he do if she refused to marry him? "Kill her," he had said; but that was not so easily done. She might compromise and secure her own safety by refusing to marry Earle, and marrying Lord Vivianne. He would keep her secret then. People would only say that she had changed her mind, and say that she was like all the Studleighs—faithless. But she loved Earle with all her power of loving, and she hated Lord Vivianne with an untold hatred.