"Because I am such a useless sort of girl. Now, Honor, and even Molly (Molly is another of my sisters), would I think make good wives for poor men, because they seem to be able to turn their hands to anything, whereas every single thing I undertake, no matter what it is, is bound to fail. No, it's no use. I must make a good marriage or live and die an old maid. Aunt says that is all I am fit for, and she ought to know."
"Which, a good marriage or an old maid?" the young man inquires mischievously.
Doris suddenly stops and laughs.
"What dreadful nonsense I am talking!" she says half apologetically, and blushing a little. "I never can stop myself when I once begin, and I get dreadfully scolded at home for it. It is really quite an event to have someone to talk to though, out of the family I mean; and we are so horribly dull at home. I hope you don't think me dreadfully silly?"
"Silly! why should I?" says Mr. Ferrars kindly. "On the contrary I like to hear anyone talking naturally, and I assure you I have been very much interested in all that you have told me. Are you fond of pictures?"
"Yes; that is, I like looking at them very much, but I don't understand them in the least. Honor is the one for that sort of thing."
"Does your sister paint, then?"
"Yes, she really paints well, I believe; and just before poor father died, and we became so horribly poor, she was going to have lessons from some good artist. But of course it all came to nothing. Poor Honor was bitterly disappointed."
"I am sure she must have been," says Mr. Ferrars feelingly. "I know what I would have felt under the circumstances."
"Why, do you paint, then?" inquires Doris, opening wide her bright blue eyes.