“Marriage is a most important relation.  Young men can not be too cautious in regard to it.  It is not an affair of the feelings merely; but common sense dictates that when new relations are likely to arise, suitable provision should be made.  Hence every well-regulated person considers the matter from a pecuniary point of view.  The pecuniary point of view is indispensable.  We can do without sentiment in this world, for sentiment is a luxury.  We can not dispense with money, because money is a necessity.  It gives me, therefore, great pleasure to hear that the choice of my son has evinced the good sense which, I may say without affectation, I hope he has inherited, and has justified the pains and expense which I have been at in his education.  My son, I congratulate you.  Mrs. Dinks, I congratulate you.”

The honorable gentleman thereupon shook hands with his wife and son, as if he were congratulating them upon having such an eloquent and dignified husband and father, and then blew his nose gravely and loudly.  Having restored his handkerchief, he smiled in general, as it were—­as if he hung out signals of amity with all mankind upon condition of good behavior on their part.

Poor Alfred was more speechless than ever.  He felt very warm and red, and began to surmise that to be engaged was not necessarily to be free from carking care.  He was sorely puzzled to know how to break the real news to his parents: 

“Oh! dear me,” thought Alfred; “oh! dear me, I wonder if Fanny wouldn’t do it.  I guess I’d better ask her.  I wonder if Hope would have had me!  Oh! dear me.  I wonder if old Newt is rich.  How’d I happen to do it?  Oh! dear me.”

He felt very much depressed indeed.

“Well, mother, I’m going down,” said he.

“My dear, dear son!  Kiss me, Alfred,” replied his mother.

He stooped and kissed her cheek.

“How happy we shall all be!” murmured she.

“Oh, very, very happy!” answered Alfred, as he opened the door.

But as he closed it behind him, the best billiard-player at the Trimountain billiard-rooms said, ruefully, in his heart, while he went to his beloved,

“Oh! dear me!  Oh!—­dear—­me!  How’d I happen to do it?”

Fanny Newt, of course, had heard from Alfred of the interview with his mother on the same evening, as they sat in Mrs. Newt’s parlor before going into the ball.  Fanny was arrayed in a charming evening costume.  It was low about the neck, which, except that it was very white, descended like a hard, round beach from the low shrubbery of her back hair to the shore of the dress.  It was very low tide; but there was a gentle ripple of laces and ribbons that marked the line of division.  Mr. Alfred Dinks had taken a little refreshment since the conversation with his mother, and felt at the moment quite equal to any emergency.

“The fact is, Fanny dear,” said he, “that mother has always insisted that I should marry Hope Wayne.  Now Hope Wayne is a very pretty girl, a deuced pretty girl; but, by George! she’s not the only girl in the world—­hey, Fanny?”