In manner, she was exceedingly agreeable, and had the happy art of putting even strangers at ease.  It was no matter of wonder to me, as I said before, that Henry Wallingford should fall in love with Delia Floyd.  But I did wonder, most profoundly, when I became fully assured, that she had, for a mere flash man, such as Ralph Dewey seemed to me, turned herself away from Henry Wallingford.

But women are enigmas to most of us—­I don’t include you, dear Constance!—­and every now and then puzzle us by acts so strangely out of keeping with all that we had predicated of them, as to leave no explanation within our reach, save that of evil fascination, or temporary loss of reason.  We see their feet often turning aside into ways that we know lead to wretchedness, and onward they move persistently, heeding neither the voice of love, warning, nor reproach.  They hope all things, believe all things, trust all things, and make shipwreck on the breakers that all eyes but their own see leaping and foaming in their course.  Yes, woman is truly an enigma!

Squire Floyd was a plain, upright man, in moderately good circumstances.  He owned a water power on the stream that ran near our town, and had built himself a cotton mill, which was yielding him a good annual income.  But he was far from being rich, and had the good sense not to assume a style of living beyond his means.

Henry Wallingford was the son of an old friend of Squire Floyd’s.  The elder Mr. Wallingford was not a man of the Squire’s caution and prudence.  He was always making mistakes in matters of business, and never succeeded well in any thing.  He died when his son was about eighteen years of age.  Henry was at that time studying law with Judge Bigelow.  As, in the settlement of his father’s estate, it was found to be wholly insolvent, Henry, unwilling to be dependent on his mother, who had a small income in her own right, gave notice to the Judge that he was about to leave his office.  Now, the Judge was a man of penetration, and had already discovered in the quiet, reserved young man, just the qualities needed to give success in the practice of law.  He looked calmly at his student for some moments after receiving this announcement, conning over his face, which by no means gave indications of a happy state of mind.

“You think you can find a better preceptor?” said the Judge, at last, in his calm way.

“No, sir! no!” answered Henry, quickly.  “Not in all this town, nor out of it, either.  It is not that, Judge Bigelow.”

“Then you don’t fancy the law?”

“On the contrary, there is no other calling in life that presents to my mind any thing attractive,” replied Henry, in a tone of despondency that did not escape the Judge.

“Well, if that is the case, why not keep on?  You are getting along bravely.”

“I must support myself, sir—­must do something besides sitting here and reading law books.”