"I have no doubt," was the smiling reply, "that as I go through the world I shall need it all."
The duchess knew that in a passage at arms, even she, well versed as she was, had no chance with Lady Doris. In one way she was pleased at her granddaughter's success, although she disliked so much calm self-possession in one so young.
But the earl saw no drawback, he admitted none. Every one was enraptured with Lady Doris, every one praised her, spoke of her wonderful beauty, and complimented him on having so peerless a daughter. His heart beat high with pride, yet never once did he wish her engagement with Earle Moray broken. He saw Lady Estelle alone a few minutes before dinner, and then he wondered at the paleness of her face, the depression of her spirits.
"Estelle," he said, gently, "what is the matter?"
It seemed as though the question broke through the flood-gates of her sorrow. She raised her eyes to his—they were streaming with tears.
"I am ungrateful, Ulric," she said. "I am wicked and discontented. I see my darling so beautiful, yet I cannot go to her and clasp her in my arms. I cannot say, 'Child, how I rejoice in you, for you are my own.'"
"No, you cannot say that; but you may love her and be as kind to her as you will."
The countess shook her head sadly.
"You do not understand," she said. "Doris is not affectionate by nature, and I can see that my love annoys and teases her. I do not repine, for you love me, Ulric, do you not?"
Love her? Yes, assuredly he did; how could he help it? Yet, all the same, he did wish that Lady Doris would show greater affection for her unknown mother.