"I will take charge of you," she said. "Come with me." They left the room together. "We will go to the boudoir first," she said. "There are some very fine paintings; you will like to see them." When they reached the boudoir Lady Estelle seemed to forget why they had gone there. She sat down on the couch, and placed Doris by her side. "I saw you once when you were quite a little child," she said. "How you have altered; how tall you have grown!" She laid her hands on the shining waves of hair. "What beautiful hair you have!" she continued, and her fingers lingered caressingly on it. "They tell me, child, that you are really promised in marriage--is it true?" There was no flush on that lovely young face; no sweet, tender coyness in the beautiful eyes; they were raised quite calmly to the questioning face. "Yes," she replied; "it is quite true." A look quite indescribable came over Lady Estelle; something yearning, wistful; then she slowly added: "A love-story always interests me; will you tell me yours?" "I have none," was the quick reply. "Earle Moray asked me to marry him, and I said yes." "But you love him?" asked Lady Estelle. "Yes, I love him--at least I suppose so. I do not know what love is; but I imagine I love him." "You do not know what love is?" said Lady Estelle, in a tone of suppressed vehemence. "I will tell you. It is a fire that burns and pains--burns and pains; it is a torrent that destroys everything in its way; it is a hurricane that sweeps over every obstacle; it is a tempest in which the ship is forever and ever tossed; it is the highest bliss, the deepest misery! Oh, child! pray, pray that you may never know what love is!" Who could have recognized the quiet, graceful, languid Lady Estelle? Her face shone like flame, and her eyes flashed fire--the calm, proud repose was all gone. Doris looked at her in wonder. "There must be many kinds of love. I know nothing of that which you describe, and Earle loves me quite differently." "How does he love you?" asked Lady Estelle. "He is always singing to me, and these are his favorite lines: "'Thou art my life, my soul, my heart, The very eyes of me; Thou hast command of every part, To live and die for thee.' "And that just expresses Earle's love." The lady's eyes were riveted on the glorious face; the rich, sweet voice had given such force and effect to the words. Then she said, anxiously: "You will be very happy in your new life, I hope--even should I never see you again--I hope you will be happy." "I hope so," replied Doris, in a dubious voice. Then her face brightened as she looked round the magnificent room. "I should be happy enough here," she said. "This is what my soul loves best--this is better than love." The lady drew back from the girl as though she had been struck. "Faithless and debonair," she murmured. Doris looked inquiringly at her. "This is what you love best?" she said. "You mean luxury and magnificence?"