"Nothing," he replied. Then the sweet, mild, sympathizing face reproached him with kindness. "Nothing has happened, Mattie," he said, "but I am not happy; I am afraid that I have grieved Doris."
"What have you done to her?" she asked, briefly.
"That is what I want to find out and cannot," he replied. "Tell me, Mattie, have you noticed a change in her?"
"Yes," replied the young girl, gravely, "I have, Earle, ever since the day she went to the Castle. I wish she had never seen it. We were very happy until then."
"Yes, we were happy," he replied sadly. "What has changed her, Mattie? Tell me truthfully; never mind about giving me pain."
"I think she saw and envied all the magnificence that was there," said Mattie; "our simple home and homely ways have been disagreeable to her ever since."
"Will it pass away?" he asked, anxiously. "We must have patience with her, Mattie. Who can wonder at it? She is so young and so lovely, it seems only natural that she should care most for what is bright and beautiful. Downsbury Castle seemed like fairyland to her. No wonder that after it we all seem a little tame and dull."
"You can never be tame, Earle," said the girl, indignantly. "How can you say such a thing? Tame indeed! I should like to say what I think on the matter."
Her warm sympathy somewhat reassured him.
He looked up at her.