With the dignified air of a young princess, Doris seated herself, the footman looking on in silent wonder; he had rarely seen his languid mistress so attentive even to her most intimate friends. Then Doris was left alone in the rich, mellow light. The rippling spray of the fountain and the gleaming of the gold fish amused her for some time: then she took up her magnificent flowers, and began to arrange them. She was so deeply engaged with them, that she did not hear the sound of footsteps; the velvet curtain at the end of the corridor was raised, and a tall, handsome man stood looking in mute wonder at the picture before him. There, in the mellow light, was a picture that for beauty of coloring could not be surpassed. A young girl, with the face of an angel, and hair of the purest shining gold; white hands that shone like snow-flakes, among crimson and amber blossoms; the background was formed by the scarlet bells and green leaves of the drooping plant. He stood for some minutes looking on in silent wonder; and while he so stands, Lord Charles Vivianne is an object worth studying; tall, well made, with a fine, erect figure, and easy, dignified bearing, he would attract attention even among a crowd of men. His face is handsome, but not good; the eyes are dark and piercing; the brows are arched and thick; but the mouth, the key to the whole face, is a bad one. The lips, thick and weak, are hidden by a mustache. It is the face of a man who lives entirely to please himself--who knows no restraint--who consults his own inclinations, and who would sacrifice every one and everything to himself. The dark eyes are riveted on the golden hair and exquisite face of the girl. It is some minutes before she becomes aware of his presence, and then something causes her to look up, and she sees those same dark eyes, full of admiration, glancing at her. She does not blush, but the dainty rose-bloom deepens on her face, and the violet eyes flash back a look of archest coquetry into his own. That look decided him. If she had blushed or looked at all embarrassed, he, being what is called a gentleman, would have turned away; that glance, so full of fire, of coquetry--so subtle, so sweet--seemed to start something like delicious poison through his veins. He comes nearer to her, making a most profound and respectful bow. Then he sees her dress, so plain and homely, although coquettishly worn, and he is at a loss to imagine who she can be. The loveliness, the perfect aristocratic grace of face and figure, are what he would have expected from a visitor at Downsbury Castle. The impress of high birth is on both of them, but the dress is not even equal to that of a lady's-maid, yet she is sitting there so perfectly at her ease, she must be a visitor. Lord Charles Vivianne, with his eyes still riveted upon her, speculates in vain.