"You are so sensible Dora," he said, "that I can talk to you quite at my ease; and that is a great treat after listening to the whims and caprices of the women of the fashionable world." With artful sophistry he stated that for family reasons it would be inadvisable, if not really rash, to have a marriage ceremony--that at the present time it would utterly blight his prospects. When two loving hearts were joined by their own free consent, and vowed to live for each other, the union was just as binding, he argued, as though a clergyman had united them. To prevent recognition and gossip, it would be necessary for him to change his name; "and for the future," he added, "we shall travel and be known as Mr. and Mrs. Conyers." This plan did not please Doris. It was not what she had anticipated. "Being a farmer's daughter," she thought, "he thinks me unfit to associate with his titled friends. But, for all that, I shall show him that I am their equal. Yes, he shall change his mind. I shall so fascinate him that he will yet be glad to proclaim me his wife, the Lady Vivianne." She now began to realize that she had made the first false steps in deceiving the trusting poet, Earle Moray, and in consenting to a secret departure from her humble home and loving parents. Yet the die was cast; ambition and a determination to accomplish her wishes forced her forward. She had great confidence, as we have seen, in the influence of her beauty. Therefore, after some half-hearted objections, which he adroitly overcame by his specious arguments, she consented to all his plans. "Trust me, dear Dora," he said, delightedly, "and you shall have everything your heart can desire." By this time breakfast was over, and it was time to leave the hotel, if they wished to catch the morning train for London. With no fuss or excitement, just as if he was paying for a cigar; Lord Vivianne settled his bill, gave a liberal fee to the waiter--a golden guinea--and half an hour later "Mr. and Mrs. Conyers" were in a first-class compartment, on the train for the great metropolis. When they reached London, Lord Vivianne said, looking with a smile at his companion's plain dress: "You cannot go to Paris in that fashion, Dora. You must have some suitable dresses. It will not be too late for Madame Delame's; you had better go there at once." She desired nothing better. She held out her white hand to him with a charming gesture. "You must advise me," she said; "I shall not know what to buy. This was the most extensive purchase of my life," and she pointed to a plain, dark silk dress which Mrs. Brace thought much too good for a farmer's daughter. "I know what will suit your fair style of beauty," he said; "a rich costume of purple velvet." Her eyes shone with delight--purple velvet! her ambition was realized. For a few moments she was speechless with joy. She forgot altogether, in that, the first realization of her dream, the price she had paid for it.