However, he was not without consolation:  Eleanor’s hand had rested a moment very tenderly in his; he had seen her white cheek flush and her eyelids droop, and he felt almost sure that he was beloved.  And as he had determined that night to test his fortune, he was not inclined to let himself be disappointed.  Consequently he decided on writing to her, for he was rather proud of his letters; and, indeed, it must be confessed that he had an elegant and eloquent way of putting any case in which he was personally interested.

Eleanor Bethune thought so.  She received his proposal on her return from a very stupid party, and as soon as she saw his writing she began to consider how much more delightful the evening would have been if Mr. Smith had been present.  His glowing eulogies on her beauty, and his passionate descriptions of his own affection, his hopes and his despairs, chimed in with her mood exactly.  Already his fine person and manners had made a great impression on her; she had been very near loving him; nothing, indeed, had been needed but that touch of electricity conveyed in the knowledge that she was beloved.

Such proposals seldom or never take women unawares.  Eleanor had been expecting it, and had already decided on her answer.  So, after a short, happy reflection, she opened her desk and wrote Mr. Smith a few lines which she believed would make him supremely happy.

Then she went to Alice’s room and woke her out of her first sleep.  “Oh, you lazy girl; why did you not crimp your hair?  Get up again, Alice dear; I have a secret to tell you.  I am—­going—­to—­marry—­Mr.—­Smith.”

“I knew some catastrophe was impending, Eleanor; I have felt it all day.  Poor Eleanor!”

“Now, Alice, be reasonable.  What do you think of him—­honestly, you know?”

“The man has excellent qualities; for instance, a perfect taste in cravats and an irreproachable propriety.  Nobody ever saw him in any position out of the proper centre of gravity.  Now, there is Carrol, always sitting round on tables or easels, or if on a chair, on the back or arms, or any way but as other Christians sit.  Then Mr. Smith is handsome; very much so.”

“Oh, you do admit that?”

“Yes; but I don’t myself like men of the hairdresser style of beauty.”

“Alice, what makes you dislike him so much?”

“Indeed, I don’t, Eleanor.  I think he is very ‘nice,’ and very respectable.  Every one will say, ‘What a suitable match!’ and I dare say you will be very happy.  He will do everything you tell him to do, Eleanor; and—­oh dear me!—­how I should hate a husband of that kind!”

“You little hypocrite!—­with your talk of woman’s ‘rights’ and woman’s supremacy.’”

“No, Eleanor love, don’t call it hypocrisy, please; say many-sidedness—­it is a more womanly definition.  But if it is really to be so, then I wish you joy, cousin.  And what are you going to wear?”