"Do not pine, dear, for what you can never have."
"I may have it some day," said Doris, defiantly.
"But how would you get it?"
"By my beauty. The world belongs to beauty."
Mattie was shocked. She was putting the books on the shelves, and her honest face clouded. She said to Doris:
"I fear your books are worse than none. How did you come to get such books? I have heard Monsieur D'Anvers say some of these were vile trash; and I notice sentences in the others that are not fit reading for a young maid."
"They are French," said Doris.
"That does not make them better. There are good books to be had in French; and you have Byron for your only poet. I have heard our rector say Byron is unfit reading for girls."
"You ridiculous, strait-laced creature!"
"And I don't quite like your pictures, dear. The subjects are not pleasant to me. These French beauties were famous for vice. La Pompadour, and Diana, and the rest. This Cleopatra is too scantily attired to suit my taste, and this Trojan Helen is not a nice picture. I would have chosen Joan of Arc, and tender Margaret More, and sad Hecuba, and martyr Margaret. Pictures should elevate our souls."