He was half startled. He watched her as she went up the broad staircase, the white, shining silk, the gleaming opals, the golden hair, the fair, sweet face—watched her until she was out of sight; then, despite his happiness, he turned away with a sigh.
"She will be my own to-morrow, and I shall not need to feel anxious over her," he said to himself; and then he went in to smoke his cigar with the earl.
Doris called in Mattie's room and said:
"Good-night. Have you any nice book lying about here, Mattie?" she asked. "I know quite well that I shall not sleep; I do not feel the least tired."
She chose one of the volumes Mattie brought to her.
"I should like to read that story papa was telling us of," she said; "but it is in the library, and he is smoking there with Earle."
"I would not read it; a gloomy, melancholy story like that is not fit for your wedding-eve."
Doris stood with the waxen taper in her hand.
"Even," she said, "if a girl has not been quite good, even if she has been what good people call wicked, it would be cruel to kill her on her wedding-eve, would it not?"
"What a strange idea, Doris!—and how strange you look! Put that book away and go to sleep, so that Earle may see bright eyes to-morrow."