"Her boudoir" he said, "should be fit for a queen and for a fairy." So they rode through the pleasant, sunlit air. A sudden thought struck Beatrice. "I wonder," she said, "what mamma will think? You must go to see her, Hubert. She dreaded love and marriage so much. Poor mamma!" She asked herself, with wondering love, what could have happened that her mother should dread what she found so pleasant? Lord Airlie entered warmly into all her plans and wishes. Near the grand suite of rooms that were to be prepared for his beautiful young wife, Lord Airlie spoke of rooms for Dora, if she would consent to live with them. "I must write and tell mamma today," said Beatrice. "I should not like her to hear it from any one but myself." "Perhaps you will allow me to inclose a note," suggested Lord Airlie, "asking her to tolerate me." "I do not think that will be very difficult," laughingly replied his companion. Their ride was a long one. On their return Beatrice was slightly tired, and went straight to her own room. She wrote a long letter to Dora, who must have smiled at her description of Lord Airlie. He was everything that was true, noble, chivalrous, and grand. The world did not hold such another. When the letter was finished it was time to dress for dinner. "Which dress will you wear, miss?" asked the attentive maid. "The prettiest I have," said the young girl, her bright face glowing with the words she had just written. What dress could be pretty enough for him? One was found at last that pleased her--a rich, white crepe. But she would wear no jewels--nothing but crimson roses. One lay in the thick coils of her dark hair, another nestled against her white neck, others looped up the flowing skirt. Beatrice's toilet satisfied her--this, too, with her lover's fastidious taste to please. She stood before the large mirror, and a pleased smile overspread her face as she saw herself reflected therein. Suddenly she remembered the letter. The morning-dress still hung upon a chair. She took the envelope from the pocket. "Shall you want me again, Miss Earle?" asked her maid. "No," replied Beatrice, breaking the seal; "I am ready now." The girl quitted the room, and Beatrice, standing before the mirror, drew out a long, closely written letter, turning presently, in amazement, to the signature, wondering who could be the writer. Chapter XXXI The sun shone brightly upon the roses that gleamed in her hair and nestled against the white neck. Could it be lingering in cruel mockery upon the pale face and the dark eyes so full of wild horror? As Beatrice Earle read that letter, the color left even her lips, her heart seemed to stand still, a vague, nameless dread took hold of her, the paper fell from her hands, and with a long, low cry she fell upon her knees, hiding her face in her hands.