It was only touched on the fair, low brow, in "the dark—dark eyes," and on the arched, crimson lips with "the sadness of thought."
Walter Earle gazed on the singer, too, with his heart in his eyes. He believed that Madame Dolores was Jaquelina Meredith. The conviction grew upon him.
And Violet, sitting by her brother's side, a fair and graceful figure in blue velvet and pearls, on which many eyes gazed admiringly, watched that slender, stately figure, and listened to the musical voice with untold feelings of horror and despair.
When the curtain was rung down on the first act, stately Mrs. Valchester leaned over to murmur to Violet:
"My love," she said, "the prima donna reminds me of some one I have seen before; but I cannot exactly recollect where."
"Really?" said Violet, with an air of languid interest, but she fluttered her fan nervously and did not try to enlighten the lady.
But Walter Earle had heard the whisper, too. He spoke impulsively:
"Mrs. Valchester, I will tell you of whom she reminds you. She is like—Miss Meredith."
"Oh, yes—yes," Mrs. Valchester assented, quickly, "but it cannot be that—that——" she stopped and looked at Walter, startled out of her usual quiet self-possession.
Walter answered, readily: