"But, Doris," said the countess, earnestly, "you must try to make the duchess like you. You will try, will you not, my dear?"
"Will you tell me why, Lady Linleigh?" asked the young girl.
The countess grew pale and agitated.
"Do it to please me, my darling, because I want her to like you—do it for my sake. Will you, Doris?"
The girl laughed—a low, rippling laugh, that had no music in it.
"I will do anything, Lady Linleigh—anything to please her, but if my own mother were living, provided that I loved her myself, I should not be very anxious for any one else to love her."
Lady Estelle drew back with something like repulsion in her face.
"You are mistaken; you cannot judge. It is only natural that we wish every one to love and admire what we love ourselves."
Doris looked at her with laughing eyes.
"I cannot see it. I should like every one, for instance, to admire Earle, but I do not care about any one loving him."