"Doris," cried Mattie, almost impatiently, "I have been looking everywhere for you. There is a whole roll of newspapers from London; they are directed to you, and I know the writing—it is Mr. Leslie's. I am sure they contain notices of your picture. Make haste—I am longing to see them."
Doris looked up with a shyness quite new to her.
"I am coming," she replied. "Where is Earle?"
She hesitated as she asked the question. There were no depths in her nature; she did not even understand regret—of remorse she had not the slightest conception; yet even she felt unwilling to look in the face of the man who loved her.
"Where is Earle?" she repeated.
"He has not returned from Quainton yet," replied Mattie; and the two girls entered the house together.
On the table of the little sitting-room lay a roll of newspapers, addressed to Miss Doris Brace. The beautiful lips curved with scorn as she read the name aloud.
"Doris Brace!" she said. "Fate must have been deriding me to give me such a name."
But Mattie made no reply; she had long since ceased to answer similar remarks.
Then Mrs. Brace, seeing the sitting-room door open, went in to look at what was going on. Doris looked up at her with a bright laugh.