He led the way into the cool, neat, quaint kitchen-room, hated of Doris' soul, but to the artist a study most excellent. Then did the artist look at the Brace family in deepest wonder. Mark had called the wood-nymph "my darling," and asserted a father's right; and yet not one line or trace of Mark was in this dainty maid. Leslie turned to study Patty, who had made her courtesy and taken the basket of berries--dark, strong, plump, tidy, intelligent, kindly, plain. Not a particle of Patty in this aristocratic young beauty, who called her "mother" in a slighting tone. Then, in despair, he fixed his eyes on Mattie Brace--brown, earnest, honest, dark, sad eyes, good, calm--just as little like the pearl-and-gold beauty as the others. Meanwhile Mark and Patty eyed each other. "I want to speak to you a minute, Mark," said Patty; and the pair retired to the dairy. Doris flushed angrily, and drummed on the window-sill. "Behold a mystery!" said Gregory Leslie to himself. "Mark," said Patty, in the safe retirement of the milk-pans, "this needs considering. Doris is not our own. To have her picture painted and exhibited in London to all the great folk, may be the last thing her mother would desire: and her mother is yet living, as the money comes always the same way." "I declare, Patty, I never thought of that." "And yet, if Doris has set her heart on it, she'll have it done--you see," added Patty. "True," said Mark. "And people will hardly think of seeking resemblances to middle-aged people in a sort of fancy picture. Better let it be done under our eye, Patty." "I suppose so, since we cannot hinder its doing." They returned to the kitchen. "We have no objection, if you wish to make the picture, sir," said Mark. "I should think not. I had settled _that_," said Doris. "In return for your kindness," said the artist to Patty, "I will make a small portrait of her for your parlor." So one sitting was given then and there, and others were arranged for. When Earle came that evening he heard all the story, and then, being with Doris in the garden, they fell out over it, beginning as set forth in the opening of this chapter. "I cannot and will not have another man gazing at you, studying your every look, carrying your face in his soul." "If you are to begin by being jealous," said Doris, delighted, "I might as well know. I enjoy jealousy as a proof of love, and as amusing me, but I like admiration, and I mean to have it all my life. If ever I go to London, I expect to have London at my feet. Besides, if you mean to sing me, for all the world, why cannot Mr. Leslie paint me. You say Poetry and Art should wait at the feet of Beauty. Now they shall!" It ended by truce, and Doris agreed that Earle should be present at every sitting. This calmed Earle, and rejoiced her. She thought it would be charming to pit poet and artist one against the other.