CHAPTER XXIII.
A RENCONTRE.
True to her promise, Doris called before eleven.
"Well, this is a surprise," said Mona. "I did not in the least expect to see you."
"Why? I said I would come."
"Yes; but I thought you would go off to visit that woman, and forget all about me. What is old friendship when weighed against the misfortune of being 'hadden doon' of a husband and four children!"
"The man was a selfish brute," said Doris, ignoring an imputation she would have resented if her mind had been less full of other things. "Did you notice? He let his wife carry more than half the bundles. I sent John to take them from her, and fortunately that put him to shame."
"And how did John like it?"
Doris laughed. "Oh, I don't know; I never thought of him. I think John is rather attached to me."
"I have yet to meet the man in any rank of life who knows you and is not attached to you. I think that has taught me more of the nature of men than any other one thing. They little dream of the contempt and scorn that lie behind that daisy face, and yet they seem to know by a sort of instinct that their charms are thrown away on you,—that the fruit is out of reach; and instead of sensibly saying 'sour grapes,' they knock themselves to pieces against the wall."