"Well, who is to blame?" persisted Doris; "pretty women for just amusing themselves according to their natures? or silly men for walking into danger, being warned?"
"It should not be a woman's nature to set traps for hearts or souls. You know better, Doris," urged Mattie.
"If I could be rich and great, and go to London, and live in society, you'd see if I would do better," retorted Doris.
"You two remind me of verses of a poem on two sisters," said Earle. "Their lives lay far apart.
"'One sought the gilded world, and there became
A being fit to startle and surprise,
Till men moved to the echoes of her name,
And bowed beneath the magic of her eyes.'"
"Yes, that means me," said Doris, tranquilly.
"'But she, the other, with a happier choice,
Dwelt 'mong the breezes of her native fields,
Laughed with the brooks, and saw the flowers rejoice;
Brimmed with all sweetness that the summer yields.'"
"That, then, is Mattie."
Mattie looked up in gratified surprise.
"If you are complimenting Mattie, I won't stay and hear it; I reign alone!" cried Doris, half laughing, half petulant, and darting away she sought her own room, and refused to return that night.