Mattie made no reply, knowing well that in all probability it was true.
Then Doris opened the papers, and read the critiques one after another; they were all alike—one rapture of praise over the magnificent picture. "'Innocence' is the great picture of the day," said one. Another asked: "Where had Mr. Leslie found the ideally beautiful face so gloriously placed on canvas? Had he drawn it from the rich depths of glowing fancy, or had he seen a face like it?" Another paper told how the queen had purchased the picture, and foretold great things for the artist.
"It is really true," said Doris. "I shall be in a palace. Oh, Mattie! I am so sorry that no one will know it is a picture of me; they will admire my portrait, and no one will see me. I should like to go to the queen and say: 'That is my picture hanging on your palace wall.'"
"She would not speak to you," said Mrs. Brace, who took all things literally.
"Hundreds of beautiful faces are placed upon canvas every day," said Mattie; "and I do not suppose any one cares for the models they are painted from."
"I wish I were my own picture," sighed Doris. "I would a thousand times rather hang upon a palace wall than live here."
Then she suddenly remembered how uncertain it was, after all, whether she should be here much longer; in the excitement of reading so much in her own praise, she had almost forgotten Lord Vivianne. As she remembered him her face grew burning red.
"I am glad you have the grace to blush," said Mattie. "You are so vain, Doris, I should be afraid that your vanity would lead you astray."
"No matter where I go my picture will be safe," was the flippant reply.
And then the little council was broken up. Mrs. Brace went away to tell Mark of her fears. Mattie did not care to hear any more self-laudation, and Doris was left alone. Her face flushed, her pulse thrilled with gratified vanity; her heart seemed to expand with the keen, passionate sense of her own beauty.