Her tongue was a spur.  It made David’s drooping manhood rear and prance—­a trumpet, and pealed victory to come.  David kissed her warmly and strode away radiant.  She looked sadly after him.

She had never spoken so hopefully, so encouragingly.  The reason will startle such of my readers as have not taken the trouble to comprehend her.  It was that she had never so thoroughly desponded.  Such was Eve.  When matters went smoothly, she itched to torment and take the gloss off David; but now the affair looked really desperate, so it would have been unkind not to sustain him with all her soul.  The cause of her despondency and consequent cheerfulness shall now be briefly related.  Scarce an hour ago she had met Miss Fountain in the village and accompanied her home.  For David’s sake she had diverted the conversation by easy degrees to the subject of marriage, in order to sound Miss Fountain.  “You would never give your hand without your heart, I am sure.”

“Heaven forbid,” was the reply.

“Not even to a coronet?”

“Not even to a crown.”

So far so good; but Miss Fountain went on to say that the heart was not the only thing to be consulted in a matter so important as marriage.

“It is the only thing I would ever consult,” said Eve.  As Lucy did not reply, Eve asked her next what she would do if she loved a poor man.  Lucy replied coldly that it was not her present intention to love anybody but her relations; that she should never love any gentleman until she had been married to him, or, correcting herself, at all events, been some time engaged to him, and she should certainly never engage herself to anyone who would not rather improve her position in society than deteriorate it.  Eve met these pretty phrases with a look of contempt, as much as to say, “While you speak I am putting all that into plain vulgar English.”  The other did not seem to notice it.  “To leave this interesting topic for a while,” said she, languidly, “let me consult you, Miss Dodd.  I have not, as you may have noticed, great abilities, but I have received an excellent education.  To say nothing of those soi-disant accomplishments with which we adorn and sometimes weary society, my dear mother had me well grounded in languages and history.  Without being eloquent, I have a certain fluency, in which, they tell me, even members of Parliament are deficient, smoothly as their speeches read made into English by the newspapers.  Like yourself, Miss Dodd, and all our sex, I am not destitute of tact, and tact, you know, is ‘the talent of talents.’  I feel,” here she bit her lip, “myself fit for public life.  I am ambitious.”

“Oh, you are, are you?”

“Very; and perhaps you will kindly tell me how I had best direct that ambition.  The army?  No; marching against daisies, and dancing and flirting in garrison towns, is frivolous and monotonous too.  It isn’t as if war was raging, trumpets ringing, and squadrons charging.  Your brother’s profession?  Not for the world; I am a coward” [consistent].  “Shall I lower my pretensions to the learned professions?”