"Quite right," said Lady Estelle. "I like to see lovers deeply in love."
They smiled again, when, fresh and fair as the morning itself, Doris came down. Her face flushed when she saw the letter; a sweet, dewy brightness came into her eyes; she laid it aside as though waiting for time.
"Read your letter, Doris," said Lady Linleigh, and the girl opened it.
Ah! well, perhaps life does not hold a greater pleasure than reading a passionate love-letter on a bright summer morning. Her dainty color deepened as she read; the light grew brighter in her eyes.
"My love!" thought the girl; "how he loves me."
And with the fragrant breath of the summer morning, with the light of the blue skies, with the song of the birds, there came to her a pang of regret that she was so utterly unworthy of this great pure love, that her soul was so terribly stained by crime. Then, she said to herself that she would atone for it, that she would to the very best of her power make up for it; that she would be so loving, so tender, so true, he should never have cause to regret it. For it was such a love-letter as would have touched any girl's heart; written with the fire of a poet and of a lover. She lost herself in a day-dream, in a golden trance of happiness: it was coming so near, this wedding-day which was to bind her to Earle forever, and free her from all care.
It was Lady Linleigh's voice that roused her, and she was asking:
"What friend is coming—who is coming, Ulric?"
"Lord Vivianne—he does not say how long he intends remaining. There is the letter; read it."
But the countess was preparing a cup of fragrant tea after the fashion she liked best, and Lord Linleigh, seeing that, said: