“And you positively will not come?”

“Not this evening.  Another time I certainly will come with pleasure.”

“Say to-morrow, then.”

“To-morrow I shall be engaged.”

“Where?  Excuse my pertinacity.”

“At Dr. Asbury’s.  I have promised to practice some duets with Helen.”

“Do you play well, Beulah?  Are you a good musician?”

“Yes.”

Cornelia mused a moment, and then said slowly, as if watching the effect of her question: 

“You have seen Eugene, of course?”

“Yes.”

“He has changed very much in his appearance, has he not?”

“More than I was prepared to expect.”

“He is to be a merchant, like my father.”

“So he wrote me.”

“You endeavored to dissuade him from complying with my father’s wishes, did you not?”

“Yes; most earnestly,” answered Beulah gravely.

“Beulah Benton, I like you!  You are honest indeed.  At last I find one who is.”  With a sudden impulse she laid her white, jeweled hand on Beulah’s.

“Is honesty, or, rather, candor, so very rare, Cornelia?”

“Come out from your ‘loop-hole of retreat,’ into the world, and you can easily answer your own question.”

“You seem to have looked on human nature through misanthropic lenses.”

“Yes; I bought a pair of spectacles, for which I paid a most exorbitant price! but they were labeled ’experience’!” She smiled frigidly.

“You do not seem to have enjoyed your tour particularly.”

“Yes, I did; but one is glad to rest sometimes.  I may yet prove a second Bayard Taylor, notwithstanding.  I should like you for a companion.  You would not sicken me with stereotyped nonsense.”

Her delicate fingers folded themselves about Beulah’s, who could not bring herself to withdraw her hand.

“And, sure enough, you would not be adopted?  Do you mean to adhere to your determination, and maintain yourself by teaching?”

“I do.”

“And I admire you for it!  Beulah, you must get over your dislike to me.”

“I do not dislike you, Cornelia.”

“Thank you for your negative preference,” returned Cornelia, rather amused at her companion’s straightforward manner.  Then, with a sudden contraction of her brow, she added: 

“I am not so bearish as they give me credit for?”

“I never heard you called so.”

“Ah! that is because you do not enter the enchanted circle of ’our clique.’  During morning calls I am flattered, cajoled, and fawned upon.  Their carriages are not out of hearing before my friends and admirers, like hungry harpies, pounce upon my character, manners, and appearance, with most laudable zest and activity.  Wait till you have been initiated into my coterie of fashionable friends!  Why, the battle of Marengo was a farce in comparison with the havoc they can effect in the space of a morning among the characters of their select visiting list!  What a precious age of backbiting we city belles live in!” She spoke with an air of intolerable scorn.