A Fair Mystery: The Story of a Coquette. Charlotte M. Brame
and his family to a common farm-house!"
"A farm-house is not so poor a place, missey," said Mark.
Doris sprung up.
"I remember – now I remember! I've had gleams of it, and wondered what I was trying to think of. They came in a gorgeous coach, with men in livery that I thought quite splendid; the duke, a tall, grand man, and with him two ladies?"
"Yes," said Patty, shortly.
"I can see my memories best in the dark," said Doris, shutting her lovely blue eyes. "It is a vague dream of a fair, proud face, a shining, lovely lady all in lace, and silk, and jewels!"
"That was Lady Estelle Hereford," said Mark, carried away.
"Lady Estelle Hereford! There's a name worth wearing! Why did not I have such a name – not that hateful Doris Brace!"
"Your name is good enough," said Mark, tartly.
"Why did they come?" demanded Doris.
These people were not good at fine evasions, but Mark made shift to answer:
"The duke is my landlord; it is only proper for him to see his best farm now and then."
"Did they see me?" urged Doris.
"Listen to Vanity! As if she was the show of the house!" said Mark.
"So I am. What here is worth seeing in comparison?"
"If that doesn't beat all!" said the scandalized Patty.
"Yes, he saw you," said Mark; "and now your next question will be, 'Did he admire me?' I won't answer you."
"There's no need; it goes without saying. Of course he admired me if he had eyes. I must have been lovely. Why did you not have my picture taken? I must have looked just like one of Correggio's little angels."
"Whose?" asked Mark.
"You didn't act much like an angel, if I remember right," said Mattie, quietly.
"Who cares for the acting, so long as one has the looks?" inquired Doris, with simplicity. "Share and share alike between sisters, you know, Mattie. I'll look like an angel, and you'll act like one!"
CHAPTER XVIII
A WOMAN AVERSE TO MARRIAGE
The Duke and Duchess of Downsbury had been so long absent from their home, that on their return they felt the greatest pleasure and keenest interest in every one whose name they remembered. Lady Estelle had outgrown her weakness of constitution. For many years it had been quite uncertain how her illness would terminate. It was not so much a malady as a wasting of strength, an utter absence of all hope or energy, a strange languor that attacked both body and mind.
Doctors recommended travel; travel fatigued her; they recommended change; change wearied her – nothing on earth seemed to have the least interest for her. Beautiful, high-born, blessed with every advantage that wealth and rank can give, she was afflicted with that most terrible of all diseases, hopeless ennui. Then, after a time, her physical health failed her, and it became a question as to whether she would recover or not. It was the one great trial that her devoted parents had to bear. They would have given all they had, all they cared for most, to have seen her happy, bright, light of heart as were others. That was never to be.
On this morning, early in the month of May, the duchess and her daughter were alone in the drawing-room of Downsbury Castle; a May morning that should have rejoiced the heart of a poet – crowned with golden rays of the sun, musical with the sweet song of birds. Lady Estelle stood at the window, looking over the trees, a wistful expression in her fine eyes. She never moved quickly when any thought or idea occurred to her; she never turned with the rapid movement peculiar to some people. An idea had evidently occurred to her now, for her face flushed, the white skin was for some minutes dyed scarlet; she waited until it died away, then she turned slowly and glanced at the duchess.
"Mamma," she said, "have you heard how the interview between papa and his agent passed off?"
"Quite satisfactorily, I believe," replied the duchess; "everything is prosperous. The tenants are all well, and there has been no misfortune among them."
Lady Estelle crossed the room; there was a beautiful stand of white hyacinths, and she bent over, caressing the beautiful buds.
"Do you remember the farmer we went to see?" she continued, "What was his name? – the man with the honest face?"
"Mark Brace?" replied the duchess.
"Yes," said Lady Estelle; "Mark Brace. Do you remember him, and that simple, gentle wife of his, and the two children, one as brown as a berry, and the other as fair as a lily, with hair of shining gold?"
"I remember them very well," replied her grace. "Indeed I could never forget that child; she was the most beautiful little creature I ever beheld; but she gave promise of being one of the worst."
"Oh, mamma, do not say such a thing!" cried Lady Estelle, with more animation than was usual with her.
"Why not, my dear?" said the duchess, calmly. "Great beauty and great wickedness so often go together."
"But it seems such a cruel thing to say of a child – a little child."
"Well, perhaps it does seem rather hard; but then, 'the child gives promise of the man,' and if ever child was precocious in vanity and ambition, that child was. You forget her."
"Yes," said Lady Estelle. "It is so long since, I forget her; but you are generally merciful in your judgments, mamma. It seems strange to hear you speak harshly of a child."
The duchess made no reply. The subject seemed to have no particular interest for her, whereas the beautiful point-lace she was making had great claims on her attention. After a few minutes Lady Estelle continued:
"I suppose nothing more has been heard of the child; no one has claimed her, or the story would have reached us. I must confess that I feel some little curiosity as to what she is like. I should be pleased to see her."
"If the girl bears out the promise of her youth, she would be worth seeing," said the duchess.
The entrance of her husband interrupted her, and she said no more.
The Duke of Downsbury looked pleased.
"My dear," he said to his wife, "I am delighted. I have the finest agent in the country. The accounts and everything else are in the finest possible order. I am so pleased that I thought of giving a dinner to the tenants; it could be no annoyance to you, and it would be a nice little act of attention, after being absent so long."
The duchess quite agreed with the project. It would be a compliment to them, and a pleasure to herself, she said.
The duke smiled to think what an amiable wife he had.
"To all your tenants, papa?" said Lady Estelle, in her graceful, languid way.
"Yes, all of them – rich and poor; but then there are no poor."
She smiled.
"I shall see Mark Brace," she said. "I was just telling mamma that I felt some interest in that child we saw. I should like to know how she has turned out."
The duke's face lighted up.
"That pretty little girl," he said; "the one over whom there was a mystery. I had forgotten her, and the story too. I should like to see her. What wonderful hair she had. I must tell Mark Brace to bring her over."
"Mark Brace is a sensible man," the duchess hastened to observe; "I am sure he will understand. She was a vain child then – she will be even vainer now. No one knows what nonsensical ideas will fill her mind if she thinks she has been invited here; you might do her a great harm by such indiscretion. Tell him to bring her over if he likes; but tell him at the same time, it will be as well for him not to mention it – he is sensible enough to understand."
"I see – you are quite right, my dear – it shall be just as you say."
And Lady Estelle hastened to add:
"You are wise, mamma. I feel some curiosity over her. I have a vague recollection