Lord Vivianne was kind, but he did not treat her with any great amount of deference. There was, however, one very good characteristic, as she thought it--he was unboundedly generous; if she expressed a wish he never hesitated about gratifying it; he never counted either trouble or expense. Enhanced by the aid of dress, of perfume, by the skill of a Parisian maid, her beauty became dazzling. He was very proud of her; he liked to drive out with her, and see all the looks of admiration cast upon her; he liked to feel himself envied. She was, without exception, the fairest woman in Paris; and his pride in her was proportionately great. The opera was then in full tide of success, and Doris never wearied of going there. It was not that she was particularly fond of music, but she enjoyed the triumph of her own bright presence; she was the observed of all observers. The sensation that her fair loveliness created was not to be surpassed. One asked another, "Who is it?" "The beautiful Englishwoman, Mrs. Conyers." "Who is Mrs. Conyers?" No one knew, and there lay the sting; there was the one thorn in her garden of roses; she drained the cup of pleasure to the dregs; she missed no _fete_, no opera; she was introduced to gentlemen, but never to ladies; she had pleasant little dinners, where some of the wittiest conversation took place, but no ladies came near; and she would fain have seen herself envied by women as well as admired by men; that was the one thing she desired above all others. But there was no one to envy her. She asked Lord Vivianne one day why it was. He looked at her and laughed a most peculiar laugh. "I am afraid, Dora, that you must learn to be content with the society of gentlemen." She understood, then, it was one of the penalties of her sin. Another thing annoyed her and made the gayeties of Paris unpleasing to her. She was walking with Lord Vivianne in the Champs Elysees, and suddenly she saw him start, and looking at him, his face flushed hotly. "How unfortunate!" he muttered to himself. Then she saw in the distance a little group of English people; a young gentleman, who was talking to an elderly lady, with a mild, sad face, and a tall, dark girl with proud, bright eyes. The gentleman saw Lord Vivianne first, but instead of stopping to speak his lordship turned quickly away, much to Doris' disappointment. "I would not have missed seeing these people on any account," he said impatiently. "Why did you not speak to them?" she asked wonderingly. "How could I," he retorted, "while you were here?" She made no reply, but the words struck her with a terrible pain. She, the fairest woman in Paris, she whom Earle called his queen--it was not to be borne. She went home, resolved if possible, to alter this state of things, and if she could not, to go away from Paris. "We will go to Italy," she thought, "where he will not meet English people whom he knows."