am sure that no one in the room will look so nice as your father," said Mrs. Brace, proudly; the glories of the new broadcloth had dazzled her. Mattie quite agreed with her, while Doris, with a mocking smile, went away.
CHAPTER XIX
A PROSPECTIVE PLEASURE FOR DORIS
The tenants' dinner was a great success. It was well attended, for all were anxious to show that they appreciated and returned the duke's kindly feeling. To Mark it was a dream of glory; he had seen nothing like the interior of this magnificent castle. The state rooms, the superb hall, with its blazonry of shields and armor; the banquet-room, with its groined roof and grand pictures, puzzled him. It was something to be a tenant of such a duke as this. As for the dinner itself, it simply amazed him; he did not know the name of half the dishes or half the wines; as for the fruit, the silver, the servants in attendance, he thought of it all with bated breath.
Doris had desired him, in a whisper, to tell her all he saw, and to be sure and not forget anything. Honest Mark tried to take an inventory, but his mind failed him: it gave way under the strain; he could not grasp the half what he saw and heard.
Mark's wonder was not diminished when a footman, bending very respectfully, asked him to be kind enough to follow him. He arose instantly, and followed through such dazzling and magnificent rooms that he began to think of the wonders of the "Arabian Nights" he had read when a boy. They came to a door that was covered with rich velvet hangings; the footman pushed them aside, opened it, and Mark Brace found himself, to his great consternation and distress, in the presence of the duchess and her daughter, both in evening dress; and the shimmer of silk, the sheen of jewels, were enough to bewilder the honest farmer. Still he had a native dignity of his own of which nothing could deprive him. Although his hands felt more stiff and red than ever, and he was most sorely puzzled what to do with them, still he recollected himself, and bowed to the ladies in a fashion quite his own.
The duchess received him kindly. Lady Estelle spoke no word, but her indolent, handsome eyes, rested on his face.
"Mr. Brace," said her grace, "I am pleased to see you. We have been long absent."
Mark muttered something to the effect: "Heaven bless them, they were very welcome home."
The duchess smiled, and Lady Estelle thought to herself:
"What a simple, honest man he is."
Mark had disposed of his hands to his own satisfaction: one was placed behind him, where it lay rigid and straight, the other hung down by his side as though slightly ashamed of itself. Then he found himself in difficulties over his feet. He had some dim idea that he had heard his wife say it was genteel to stand with the heels together; he tried it, and it proved a dead failure.
The duchess relieved him of all further embarrassment by pointing to a chair. He sat down with a deep sigh that was almost a gasp – thankful to be relieved at last.
"I wanted to see you, Mr. Brace," continued the stately lady, "to ask how the child is whom we saw at the farm."
Mark was himself again with something to say of Doris. His face brightened.
"She is not a child now, your grace; she has grown to be a beautiful girl."
"Is she still beautiful?" asked her grace.
"I do not think the sun, when it rises in the morning, is brighter," replied Mark, with unconscious poetry.
"I am almost sorry to hear it," said her grace. "There are more qualities than beauty for a girl in her position, Mr. Brace."
"Yes; but we can't help it."
"And," interrupted the duchess, "have you heard any more? Do you know to whom she belongs? Have you any trace of her parentage?"
Lady Estelle shut her jeweled fan, and laid it on the table. Her eyes were fixed on Mark's face.
"No, your grace," he replied. "We know no more than we did on the day she first came to us. The money comes every year. It always comes from London, generally in Bank of England notes, quite new and crisp; sometimes gold packed in a little box. It never fails."
"It is so strange. There is never a word about the child in the parcels? No questions? No remarks?"
"No; not one," he replied.
"And what have you done with her all these years?" asked the duchess. "She had high spirits of her own."
"She has been to school, your grace; it was her own wish she should go. She was away for four years without coming home."
"Then she is clever and accomplished?" said the duchess.
"Yes," replied Mark; "she is as clever as any lady in the land."
Then his face grew crimson, and he said to himself that he had made a great blunder. Lady Estelle smiled in her usual languid fashion.
"I mean, your grace," exclaimed Mark, "that she is really very clever. She sings like a mermaid," he added, delighted at his own figure of speech; "she can dance, and speaks two foreign languages."
The duchess laughed. It was impossible to help it; Mark's face was such a study as he enumerated this list of accomplishments.
"I should like to see your protegee, Mr. Brace," said her grace; "but as she is inclined to be vain, it would be wise perhaps not to tell her that I have expressed such a wish."
Mark looked very wise; he quite agreed with it.
"You might say," continued her grace, "that you are coming over to the Castle next week on business, and bring her with you."
"I will, your grace," said Mark, proudly. "I am coming on business next Tuesday; my lease is to be renewed. I will bring her with me. She is engaged to be married," he added, bluntly.
"Engaged!" repeated the duchess. "Why, she cannot be more than nineteen."
"She is nineteen," said Mark; "and, of course, I shall not allow her to be married for a year."
"You are quite right," interrupted the duchess.
Lady Estelle had opened her fan, and she stirred it gently, as she asked:
"To whom is she engaged?"
Mark declared, in reporting the conversation, that it was the grammar that destroyed him. It made him feel unequal to giving any answer. He turned uneasily in his chair.
"To whom is she engaged?" repeated the clear, musical voice.
"Why, my lady, he is a poet and a gentleman."
"A poet and a gentleman!" repeated the duchess. "That is high praise."
"He deserves it, your grace. He has written a book – I cannot say whether it has been read among the great people; but, with such as us, the verses are on the lips of every man, woman and child."
"What is the poet's name?" asked Lady Estelle.
"Earle Moray, my lady. He lives near us, and his father was a clergyman. His mother is a very quiet, grave lady. She always thought that Doris was my daughter, and when she heard the truth she was quite unwilling for her son to make such a marriage. But he talked her over."
Lady
