He sat and watched her, sometimes so convinced of her identity that he could have called out "Doris:" again, wondering how he could be so foolish as to imagine he had found his lost love in Lord Linleigh's daughter. He could not take him eyes from the beautiful face. He longed to hear her speak, to see if the voice was that of Doris: he remembered its low, sweet music so well; if he could hear her speak, he would be a thousand times more sure. He waited until he saw them leave the box, and he hastened so as to be in the dressing-room with them. Standing nearer to her, he would surely be able to judge. "Are you cold, my darling?" asked Earle, as he saw her drawing the hood of her opera-cloak over her head. "The house was warm," she replied, in a low voice. No movement of her enemy was lost upon her. She knew that he was close to her, that the fragrance of her flowers reached him; she saw that he pushed his way even nearer, and stood where he could have touched her. He looked intently at her. Her face was shaded and softened by the crimson hood. Once she looked around, as though curious to see who was near her; then her eyes met his--quietly, coldly, without the least light, or recognition, or shadow of fear in them. She looked at him for one half moment, indifferently, as she glanced at every one else, then looked away again, leaving him more puzzled than ever. CHAPTER LXIII. LORD VIVIANNE PERPLEXED. It was no wonder that when she reached Hyde House again Lady Studleigh should look ill and exhausted; she had passed through a severe ordeal, and no one but herself knew what it had cost her. "One more such victory," she said to herself, "and I should be undone." She lay back in one of the lounging-chairs, while Earle hastened to pour out some wine for her. "You look so tired, my darling," he murmured--"so tired. I wish we were away from this great London, out in the fresh, fair country again, Doris. Why, sweet, there are tears in your eyes!" She looked so wistfully, so longingly at him--tears in the eyes he had always seen so proud and bright. She bent her beautiful head on his breast, longing with all her heart to tell him her terrible secret, her dreadful trouble, yet not daring the least hint. "They are tears of fatigue," she said--"real fatigue, Earle." "I wish I were Earl of Linleigh for ten minutes," he said; "I would forbid you to go out again, though you are queen of the season and belle of St. James'." "I should obey you," she replied; and then she bade him good-night, not daring to say more, lest she should say too much. She wanted to be alone, to collect her thoughts, to look her danger in the face, to gather her forces together, and prepare to give the enemy brave battle. It was a wonderful relief to her to find herself alone.