"Thou art my life, my soul, my heart, The very eyes of me-- Thou hast command of every part, To live and die for thee." His rich young voice rolled forth these words with deep feeling. Doris laughed at the song at first, but his earnestness in singing it touched her a very little. "I shall always think of you when I hear that song," she said. "Think of me! Yes, but if it means that we are to be parted, and you think--just to remember--Doris, I should die!" He was fervid, handsome, romantic, brilliant in love's first golden glow, hard to resist. She smiled at him. "Let us fancy we will not be parted," she said sweetly. Earle came hurrying up one day after dinner. "Now for a long evening in the garden!" he cried. "I have brought a new drama; the poetry is exquisite. We will sit in the arbor under the honeysuckle, and while the summer wind is full of the breath of flowers, I will read you the sweeter breathing of a poet's soul. Come, Doris--come, Mattie--let us off to the garden." Mattie's face flushed with joy; it was so sweet to find some pleasure she could share with him. Earle read; his voice was full of fire and music. Mattie listened entranced. Doris half forgot her favorite dreams of herself in gorgeous crowds, the center of admiration. The gloaming fell as he read the last lines. "It is beautiful, in its poetry," said Mattie, "but not in its idea. I cannot love the heroine, though her face is fair. Beauty should be united to goodness, and goodness has not this cruel pride. To think of a woman who would let a brave man die, or risk death, to win a smile! I always hated the lady who threw the glove, and I think the knight served her well, to leave her when he returned the glove, for she had no idea of true love." "Beauty has a right to all triumphs," cried Doris, "and men have always been ready to die for beauty's smile." "A good man's life is worth more than any woman's smile," said Mattie. "The man's life, the woman's life, are Heaven's gifts, to be spent in doing good. We have no right to throw them idly away, or demand their sacrifice. I never liked these stories of wasted affection. They are too pitiful. To give all and get nothing is a cruel fate." "Oh, you little silly country girl," laughed Doris, "you do not think that beautiful women are queens, and hearts are their rightful kingdom, and they can get as many as they like, and do what they please with them." "You talk to amuse yourself," said Earle, "that sweet smile and voice fit your cruel words as little as they would suit an executioner's sword." "What is slaying by treachery in love better than murder?" asked Mattie, eagerly. "It is a very exciting, piquant, interesting form of murder," retorted her wicked little sister.