A Fair Mystery: The Story of a Coquette. Charlotte M. Brame
could do something for her," said the duke.
"What could we do? She is admirably well kept; she goes to school. If that good Patty Brace could not succeed with her, could we, where life and fashion would fill her head with nonsense? Perhaps I only speak so because I am constitutionally indolent."
"You are quite right. She has too much flattery and indulgence now," said the duchess.
"Sometimes I think that simple, unworldly life is best for everybody," said Lady Estelle. "I get tired of society and display, and fancy I should like to wear a print gown and lie all day under an apple-tree in bloom."
"But apple-trees don't bloom all the year, and the ground is often outrageously damp," laughed the duke.
"And these simple people cannot lie under trees all day, or much of the day; consider they must be making butter and cheese, and curing bacon," added her grace.
"So?" drawled Lady Estelle. "Then no doubt I had better stay as I am."
"My dear girl," said her father, seriously, "it is time to reconsider that determination to stay as you are. Not long ago you refused the Marquis of Bourne. You said he was too old and too plain. Now I have a proposal from the Earl of Seaton for your hand. He is neither old nor plain; he is in every way eligible."
"Now you are boring me again, papa," drawled Lady Estelle.
"But, my dear, I approve of the earl. I really wish to see you married. What shall I say to him?"
"Tell him to go away and not trouble me, papa."
"My daughter, he deserves a better answer. You are my only child; I shall not live forever; I must consider your future. Marriage will contribute to your happiness."
"I am happy enough, papa."
"Then think of our happiness – your mother's and mine. Oh, Estelle! when I saw that lovely little child, how I wished I had a grandchild like that!"
A ruddy blush dyed Lady Estelle's face, and she was silent.
"Daughter," said the duchess, "do not wait and refuse all offers from some romantic fancy about falling in love. That does not belong to your rank. Perhaps your nature is not to love any man very passionately: but you will care for your husband when you are married, and you will love your children."
Lady Estelle drooped her eyelids until the long lashes rested on her swiftly paling cheek.
"Mamma, I hate the word marriage!" she said, with far more than her usual vehemence.
"We will drop the question at present," said her mother, anxiously. "You are looking very pale and ill. This long ride has been too much. I wish I had not permitted it."
Yes, Lady Estelle was the worse for her visit. She looked paler each day, and often when alone she whispered:
"Faithless and debonair – faithless and fair; faithless and debonair!"
The duke soon concluded that he must begin his wanderings again in search of health and strength for his idolized only child. The suitors were sent sway, the castle was closed, and the family of Downsbury went far from Brackenside and little Doris.
CHAPTER VII
ALL, ALL IS VANITY
Meanwhile, at the farm little Doris grew under the protection of Mark and Patty, and yearly, as the day came round which was the anniversary of her arrival, Mark received a hundred pounds, in golden sovereigns, or in fresh, new Bank of England notes. And Mark, in his sturdy honesty, and far-seeing common sense, developed rare qualities as a guardian. Plain man as he was, he guessed at what a girl of good family or high social position should know, and preparing Doris for that position to which some day her unknown mother might call her, he resolved that she should receive accomplishments.
Fortune favored him. In Brakebury lived a Frenchman, a political exile, a gentleman of high accomplishments. Monsieur D'Anvers was held in great awe in the village; his courtly grace, the foreign tongues he spoke, the pictures that he drew, the water-color landscapes which he painted and sold in London, his playing on various instruments – all lifted him far above his neighbors.
To Monsieur D'Anvers went honest Mark, when Doris was eight years old, and offered him fifty pounds a year to tutor the two little girls, the brown and the fair.
"You will teach Mattie what she wants to learn, and what she can learn," said Mark; "but Doris can learn anything, and I want you to teach her all you know."
So Doris was taken daily to her tutor, as she had been to the school of the Misses Hopwell, and the old French courtier bowed down and worshiped her, as in all her life did all the men who were brought into contact with her. To teach her was a labor of love. Her aptitude was marvelous. She learned to speak French and German fluently; she drew and painted with taste and skill; her little fingers, with some inherited grace, flew over the ivory keys, or touched the shining cords of harp and guitar. Manners – the manners of courts – the banished Frenchman taught her, and she learned them intuitively.
"Mon Dieu!" cried the old gentleman; "but this child is lovely! She surpasses Ninon D'Enclos and Diana de Poitiers! She has spirit, wit, originality – everything that is admirable! A queen might be proud to be her mother!"
Doris swayed and enchanted her old preceptor. Mattie, quietly studying French, drawing, and English literature, was left far behind by her foster-sister, who was speedily learning all that the tutor could teach.
"You should have been born a princess, ma belle!" the old man would say, delighted with some flash of wit, some piquant performance. "What will you do with all your beauty here on a farm?"
"Am I very beautiful?" demanded Doris.
"More beautiful than Helen, for whom thousands died; than Cleopatra, who had the world's conquerors at her feet! What will you do with so much beauty?"
"Make the most of it!" and the words jarred on the aristocrat.
All men said the same. Even the rector unwisely cried:
"Little maid, you have beauty enough to turn your head. Do not let it make you proud."
"Who made me beautiful?" asked Doris.
"God, my child."
"Is it not right to be proud of God's work and gifts?"
"You have beauty enough to be a snare," said the doctor.
"God gave me my beauty, and God is good, and does not set snares," said Doris, quickly, making Mark and the doctor laugh at her ready wit.
"A beautiful body is nothing without a beautiful soul," said Mark, mindful of the letter saying, "Keep her soul white and pure."
"I would rather have a beautiful body than a beautiful soul," said Doris, promptly.
"Why, my dear?" demanded the good man, in amaze.
"Because my body is where people can see it. Who can see my soul?" said Doris, scornful of her best possession.
Mark was shocked.
"That comes from every one praising you so foolishly; you will be ruined!" he exclaimed.
"Mattie can have the beautiful soul, and I will have the beautiful body," retorted Doris. "Monsieur D'Anvers says wisdom is the best gift, the gift for kings. I say beauty is the best gift, the gift for queens; and queens have always ruled kings."
Mark shook his head. It is hard labor to rear an eagle in a sparrow's nest.
"Mother," said Doris, one day, when she was twelve, "this shall not go on longer – I'm sick of it."
"What, my child? Of what are you sick?"
"Of the village, of the farm, of our way of living. I hate it. If I am kept here longer I know I shall run away."
"My dear, are we not good to you?"
"Oh, yes, you are good, of course; but it is not goodness I want; it is change; I want something new – some more style."
"But how and where, Doris?"
"Send me to boarding-school. I want to know more of the way ladies