“Quite a reasoner, upon my word!  And so in this way you intend winning Henry Clarence?”

“Of course I do.  At least, I shall try hard.”

“And you will fail, I am much disposed to think.”

“I’m not sure of that.  Henry Clarence is but a man.”

“Yet he is too close an observer to be deceived into any strong admiration of a ball-room belle.”

“You are behind the age, Caroline.  Your quiet unobtrusiveness will I fear cause you to be passed by, while some one not half so worthy, will take the place which you should have held in the affections of a good husband.”

“Perhaps so.  But, I wish to be taken for what I am.  I want no man, who has not the good sense and discrimination to judge of my real character.”

“You will die an old maid, Caroline.”

“That may be.  But, in all sincerity, I must say that I hope not.”

“You will go to the ball, of course?”

“I think I will, Melvina.”

“Well, that settled, what are you going to wear?”

“Something plain and simple, of course.  But I have not thought of that.”

“O don’t Caroline.  You will make yourself singular.”

“I hope not, for I dislike singularity.  But how are you going to dress?  Splendid, of course, as you expect to make a sensation.”

“I’ll try my best, I can assure you?”

“Well, what kind of a dress are you going to appear in?”

“I have ordered a robe of blue tulle, to be worn over blue silk.  The robe to be open in front, of course, and confined to the silk-skirt with variegated roses.”

“And your head-dress?”

“I shall have my hair ornamented with variegated roses, arranged over the brow like a coronet.  Now, how do you like that?”

“Not at all.”

“O, of course not.  I might have known that your taste was too uneducated for that.”

“And I hope it will ever remain so, Melvina.”

“But how will you dress, Caroline.  Do let me hear, that I may put you right if you fix on any thing outre.”

“Well, really, Melvina, I have not given the subject a thought.  But it never takes me long to choose.  Let me see.  A plain—­”

“Not plain, Caroline, for mercy sake!”

“Yes.  A plain white dress, of India muslin.”

“Plain white!  O, don’t Caroline—­let me beg of you.”

“Yes, white it shall be.”

“Plain white!  Why nobody will see you!”

“O, yes.  Among all you gay butterflies, I will become the observed of all observers,” said Caroline, laughing.

“Don’t flatter yourself.  But you will have some pink trimming, will you not?”

“No, not a flower, nor ribbon, nor cord, nor tassel.”

“You will be an object of ridicule.”

“Not in a polite company of gentlemen and ladies, I hope!”

“No; but—.  And your head-dress, Caroline.  That I hope will atone for the rest.”