While her eyes were fixed on the stage, while so many were looking at her, some with admiration, some with envy, that was the thought which occupied her. The dread, the expectation of meeting him had been strong upon her ever since she heard that he was in London--it could not possibly be otherwise. She knew herself to be the beauty of the season; he, of course, as an eligible man, would mix in the same circles, and they must meet. She was brave enough, but there were times when, at the bare idea of it, the color faded from her face, leaving it ghastly white; great drops would stand on her forehead; she would clasp her hands with a cry of agony. If her attempts at evading him were all useless, if he recognized her and insisted on the recognition, what could she do? The question was, could she deny having been in Florence? No amount of prevarication could alter that. Suppose--only imagine if he should betray her. He might be a gentleman and keep his secret; it was certainly within the bounds of possibility he might keep her secret; but, remembering his character, she did not for one moment think he would. He called himself a gentleman and a man of honor, but he had not scrupled to take a mean advantage of her youth and ignorance, her vanity and folly. What a triumph it would be for him now to turn round and laugh at the lovely Lady Studleigh, and say that beautiful, admired, proud, and lofty as she was now, she had once been content to be his companion. What if he told all this as a secret at first, and the knowledge of it spread slowly, as a social leprosy always does. What should she do? Great heavens! what should she do? "How mad I was!" she cried to herself over and over again; "how foolish, how blind! I might have been so happy but for this!" It was the skeleton always by her side, and despite her nerve, her courage, her strength, there were times when it almost hopelessly beat her down. Then the thought of Earle was her shield. "If he says one word against me, and I cannot kill him," she said to herself over and over again, "I will ask Earle to fight a duel with him, and he will slay him!" But for this, how unboundedly happy she would have been--how victorious, how triumphant! Who, looking at that most lovely face, with its calm, high-bred air, would have thought that the heart beneath was torn with thoughts of regret, despair, and even revenge that should lead to murder? "My darling!" said the voice she loved best in her ear. "Doris, I shall be jealous of that music. I have spoken to you so often, and you have not heard me." The eyes she raised to him had no shadow in them of the terrible thoughts that filled her mind. "The music is so beautiful, Earle," she said, gently. "I wonder," he said, abruptly, "who that is--a gentleman in the center box there? He has never once taken his eyes, or rather his glass, from your face."