style="font-size:15px;"> At sixteen she came home again, beautiful as a fairy, ripe for mischief, mad for display – a tireless reader of French novels.
She looked about that home of rustic goodness, and covert scorn dwelt in the violet eyes and sat lightly on the chiseled lips; her parents were "so plain," her sister Mattie "a country simpleton."
They on their part rose up to do her homage; they bowed down and worshiped at beauty's shrine. And was she not most beautiful?
"Beauty was hers in dower, such as earth
Doth rarely reckon 'mid her fading things:
A glory lit her tears, and in her mirth
Shook the sweet laughter of translucent springs."
Already an adept in coquetry, she sighed at once for a victim for her charms. Alas! she found him near.
"Are there any new people?" she asked of Mattie.
"Only Earle Moray."
"Eh? A decent sounding name. Who is he?"
"A poet and a gentleman," cried Mattie, enthusiastically.
"A poet? Poets live, I understand, in garrets."
"But Earle has some money," said Mattie, simply.
"Earle? So? You seem to know him rather well."
Poor Mattie blushed crimson.
CHAPTER VIII
THE YOUNG COQUETTE
"For some had perished in her stern neglect —
Fell on the sword of their own hope and died;
While she in triumph, scornfully erect,
Swept o'er their ashes with the skirts of pride."
Before returning to Brackenside, Doris had demanded a room for herself, and for this room certain furnishings. She did not know that Mark and Patty would say to each other:
"It is only fair, since we have for her a hundred pounds a year;" but she did know that her will would be law to them.
She brought with her, when she came back to the farm, many little adornments, purchases of her own, or gifts from her school friends; and these Mattie dutifully arranged for her, just as she had polished the windows and nailed down the carpet, and ironed the curtains before Doris came. Doris never thought of helping her. She perched herself, Turk fashion, on the foot of the bed, and issued her orders as a good-natured little mistress to her maid. There were knickknacks for the toilet-table, pictures for the wall, a little book-case of hanging shelves.
"Your room will be fit for a princess, Doris," said Mattie.
"For a princess!" said Doris, with scorn. "If I were half a princess, or only rich, I would clear out the rubbishy things at once. You might have them, Mattie, since you like them. I would have gold-mounted furnishings for my dressing-table, silk hangings, velvet carpets, upholstery in plush and satin, gold, white, pale-blue. I would have exquisite marbles, and pictures that cost a fortune each."
"But you never saw such things," said Mattie.
"No; only I have read of them, and find in myself a fitness for them. I would give anything for such luxury."
"Do not pine, dear, for what you can never have."
"I may have it some day," said Doris, defiantly.
"But how would you get it?"
"By my beauty. The world belongs to beauty."
Mattie was shocked. She was putting the books on the shelves, and her honest face clouded. She said to Doris:
"I fear your books are worse than none. How did you come to get such books? I have heard Monsieur D'Anvers say some of these were vile trash; and I notice sentences in the others that are not fit reading for a young maid."
"They are French," said Doris.
"That does not make them better. There are good books to be had in French; and you have Byron for your only poet. I have heard our rector say Byron is unfit reading for girls."
"You ridiculous, strait-laced creature!"
"And I don't quite like your pictures, dear. The subjects are not pleasant to me. These French beauties were famous for vice. La Pompadour, and Diana, and the rest. This Cleopatra is too scantily attired to suit my taste, and this Trojan Helen is not a nice picture. I would have chosen Joan of Arc, and tender Margaret More, and sad Hecuba, and martyr Margaret. Pictures should elevate our souls."
"My goodness, Mattie! have you been taking lessons of that gentleman poet you mentioned? Where does he live!"
"At Lindenholm – his mother owns it, and came there two years ago, when she was left a widow. Her husband was a curate."
"Then I don't believe your Earle Moray is very rich. He is just a farmer, if he has only Lindenholm. I remember the place, half villa, half farm-house, with great linden trees around it. Does he write books?"
"He has written one small one – 'Songs of the Country-side.' I have it here. You can read it; it is like music."
"Ta, ta! I hate poetry. What does the man look like?"
"Why, he looks as he is, a gentleman, a good man."
"I foresee I shall have a surfeit of goodness here. If the man is neither rich nor handsome, he will hardly pay to flirt with, unless one is desperate."
"To flirt with!" cried Mattie, aghast. "You would not flirt, Doris?"
"And why wouldn't I?"
"Why, it is wicked. It is cruel, it is deceitful."
"Hear the girl talk!" cried Doris, flinging herself back on the bed with peals of musical laughter. "Why, goosey, I flirted with every male creature I set eyes on at school."
"But I thought they did not allow such things."
"Allow? You will undoubtedly be the death of me, with your simplicity," said Doris, sitting up, her golden hair distractingly rumpled, her eyes shining with glee, her dimples dancing like tricky sprites among the deepened roses on her cheeks. "Don't you understand that it was our chief aim to do what we were not allowed? Men, I admit, were scarce. The writing-master was engaged to one of the teachers; but I flirted with him until she nearly cried her eyes out; and after he withstood me three months he surrendered at discretion, and I laughed at him. The French master vowed he would kill himself on my behalf; the music-master fell so conspicuously into my power that the preceptress dismissed him, and got a gorgon of a woman in green spectacles in his place. As for the dancing-master, he played the fool and erred exceedingly whenever I was in sight; so the girls said it was better than any theater."
"Doris, I am ashamed of you."
"What odds does that make, so long as I am not ashamed of myself?"
"But you will not act in that way with Earle?"
"Why won't I? Are you afraid of losing him?"
"He doesn't belong to me," said Mattie, blushing.
"How
