"Yes, but why should a mere chance likeness frighten you?" Mrs. Cleveland retorts, with subdued scorn. Lady Vera has not seen her enemies yet. A group of admirers has closed around her, and for a little while she forgets that she will meet here the heartless and vindictive woman who destroyed the happiness of her parents. Her lover claims her hand for the dance, and she passes from their sight a little space. Colonel Lockhart is radiant with joy and pride. The hum of admiration that follows his darling everywhere is music in his ears. "My darling, do you see how every eye follows you?" he whispers, fondly. But Lady Vera laughs archly in the happiness of her heart. "You are mistaken. They are only admiring your uniform," she retorts, gayly, and the soldier thinks to himself that surely the smile upon the crimson lips is the gladdest and sweetest that ever rejoiced a lover's heart. But it fades suddenly, the glad, sweet smile, and the blush upon the rounded cheek. The dance is over, and they are lingering together by a stand of rare and fragrant flowers. Suddenly the blush and smile fade together. A strange, stern look comes into the dark eyes, she drops the rose that her lover has just placed in her hand. "Vera," he asks, looking anxiously at her, "what ails you, dear? You have grown so grave." She looks up at him with strange eyes, from which the light and joy of a moment ago have faded as if they had never been. "Philip, who is that woman over there, in the crimson brocade and rubies?" she asks, indicating the person by a slight inclination of her head. His glance follows hers. "That woman--yes, someone told me awhile ago that she was a countrywoman of mine, a Mrs. Cleveland. The one next her, in the diamonds, is her daughter." Lady Vera is silent a moment, gazing steadily at the unconscious two. She has recognized them instantly, and only asked the question to "make assurance doubly sure." Some of the bitterness in the heart rises up to her face. Her lips curl in scorn. Colonel Lockhart regards her anxiously, puzzled by the inexplicable change in her face. "What is it, Vera? Do you know these people?" he asks. "How should I know them?" she asks, trying to throw off the weight that has fallen on her heart. "Are you ill, then? These flowers are too heavy and sweet, perhaps. Shall I take you away?" he inquires. "Not yet," she answers. She continues gazing steadily at Mrs. Cleveland and her daughter. To her heart she is saying over and over: "I am face to face with my enemies at last. What form will my vengeance take?" In a moment that question that she has asked herself so many times is terribly answered. Watching Ivy with her strange, intent gaze, she sees a gentleman come up to her side. "Am I mad," she asks herself, with terrible calm despair, "or is it really Leslie Noble?" Her lover unconsciously answers the silent question.