"How can any one enjoy giving pain," cried Mattie. "I have read of such women, but to me they seem true demons, however fair. Think of destroying hope, life, genius, morals--for what? For amusement, and yet these sons all had mothers." "You are in earnest, Mattie," said Earle, admiringly. "I feel in earnest," said Mattie, passionately. "Pshaw, there is much spider and fly in men and women," laughed Doris. "Women weave silvery nets in the sun, and the silly men walk straight in. Who's to blame?" "You talk like a worn-out French cynic," cried Mattie. "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. It was often so. When she had sunned Earle with her smiles she withdrew her presence, or changed smiles to frowns; so he was never cloyed with too much sweetness. When Doris withdrew, in vain he sang under the window, or sent her love-full notes. The summer sun of his love had its settings, its shadows, its thunder-clouds, yet Earle loved and was happy. CHAPTER XII. BEAUTY BECOMES IMMORTAL. It was the good custom of Mark Brace to close the day with prayer; and sometimes a word or two of the psalms for the day penetrated the sedulously deaf ears of Doris. Such happened to be the case one August night, and set the beauty thinking. She was perched on the sill of the dairy window, next morning, watching Mattie make butter, but her brow wore a perplexed frown, and a look of curiosity not provoked by butter-making was in her blue eyes. "What is the matter? What are you thinking of, Doris?" "I am thinking that I am an example of Scripture truth." "In what particular?" asked Mattie. "In the particular of tumbling into the pit, or catching in the net, duly set forth by me for other people." "I don't quite understand you."