“What is that?”

“Depth of feeling, and high moral principle.”

“You certainly do not pretend to affirm that Mr. Gray has neither feeling nor principle?”

“Of course I do not.  I only say that I have never yet perceived any very strong indications of their existence.”

“Why, Rose!”

“I am in earnest, Annette.  I doubt not that he possesses both, and, I trust, in a high degree.  But he seems to be so constantly acting a brilliant and effective part, that nature, unadorned and simple, has no chance to speak out.  It is not so with Mr. Hambleton.  Every word he utters shows that he is speaking what he really feels; and often, though not so highly polished in speech as Mr. Gray, have I heard him utter sentiments of genuine truth and humanity, in a tone that made my heart bound with pleasure at recognising the simple eloquence of nature.  His character, Annette, I find it no way difficult to read; that of Marcus Gray puzzles my closest scrutiny.”

“I certainly cannot sympathize with you in your singular notions, Rose,” her friend replied.  “I have never discovered either of the peculiarities in these young men that you seem to make of so much importance.  As for Mr. Gray, he is a man of whom any woman might feel proud; for he combines intelligence with courteous manners and a fine person:  while this Hambleton is, to me, insufferably stupid.  And no one, I am sure, can call his address and manners any thing like polished.  Indeed, I should pronounce him downright boorish and awkward.  Who would want a man for a husband of whom she would be ashamed?  Not I, certainly.”

“I will readily grant you, Annette,” said Rose, as her friend ceased speaking, “that Mr. Hambleton’s exterior attractions are not to be compared with those of Mr. Gray; but, as I said before, in a matter like this, where it is the quality of the mind, and not the external appearance of the man alone, that is to give happiness, it behooves a maiden to look beneath the surface, as I am trying to do now.”

“But I could not love a man like Mr. Hambleton, unless, indeed, there were no possibility of getting any one else.  In that case, I would make a choice of evils between single blessedness and such a husband.  But to have two such offers as these, Rose, and hesitate to make a choice, strikes me as singular indeed!”

“I do not hesitate, Annette,” was the quiet reply.

“Have you, then, indeed decided, Rose?”

“I have—­and this conversation has caused me to decide; for, as it has progressed, my mind has been enabled to see truly the real difference in the characters of my suitors.”

“You have, then, decided in favor of Mr. Gray?”

“Indeed I have not, Annette.  Though I admire his fine talents and his polished exterior, yet I have never been able to perceive in him those qualities upon which my heart can rest in confidence.  He may possess these in even a higher degree than Mr. Hambleton, but I am afraid to run so great a risk.  In the latter, I know there are moral qualities that I can love, and that I can repose upon.”