“Who, Melvina Fenton?”

“Yes.”

“She is certainly a beautiful girl.”

“And interesting and intelligent.”

“Yes—­I know of no one who, in comparison with her, bears off the palm.”

“And still, there is one thing about her that I do not like.  She is too fond of dress and display.”

“O, that is only a little foible.  No one is altogether perfect.”

“True—­and the fault with me is, in looking after perfection.”

“Yes, I think you expect too much.”

“She is affectionate, and that will make up for many deficiencies.  And what is more, I can see plainly enough that her heart is interested.  The brightening of her cheek, the peculiar expression of her eye, not to be mistaken, when certain subjects are glanced at, convince me that I have only to woo to win her.”

“What do you think of Caroline Gay?” asked his friend.

“Well, really, I can hardly tell what to think of her.  She has intelligence, good sense, and correct views on almost every subject.  But she is the antipodes of Melvina in feeling.  If she were not so calm and cold, I could love her; but I do not want a stoic for a wife.  I want a heart that will leap to my own, and send its emotion to the cheek and eye.”

“I am afraid you will not find an angel in this world,” his friend said, smiling.

“No, nor do I want an angel.  But I want as perfect a woman as I can get.”

“You will have to take Melvina, then, for she has three exceeding good qualities, at least, overshadowing all others.”

“And what are they?”

“Beauty.”

“Well?”

“An affectionate heart.”

“Something to be desired above every thing else.  And her next good quality?”

“Her father is worth a ‘plum.’”

“I would dispense with that, were she less fond of show, and effect, and gay company.”

“O, they are only the accompaniments of girlhood.  As a woman and a wife, she will lay them all aside.”

“I should certainly hope so, were I going to link my lot with hers.”

“Why, I thought your mind was made up.”

“Not positively.  I must look on a little longer, and scan a little closer before I commit myself.”

“Well, success to your marrying expedition.  I belong yet to the free list.”

In due time Mrs. Walshingham’s splendid affair came off.

“Isn’t she an elegant woman!” exclaimed a young man in an under tone, to a friend, who stood near Henry Clarence, as Melvina swept into the room dressed in a style of elegance and effect that attracted every eye.

“Beautiful!” responded his companion.  “I must dance with her to-night.  I always make a point to have one round at least with the belle of the ball-room.”

The individual who last spoke, was well known to all in that room as the betrayer of innocence.  And Henry Clarence felt his cheek burn and his heart bound with an indignant throb as he heard this remark.