“If he values his personal ease so much, it might be a mistake to imperil it by matrimony,” said Margaret, with a touch of contempt in her voice not discernible to her unsuspecting cousin. “Affluence and idleness have made him luxurious,” said Margaret to herself, reflectively, when Mrs. Guion had left her alone. “I suppose those two things are apt to go together. And yet Cousin Eugenia says Mr. Gaston has always been well off, and certainly the veriest pauper could not work harder! And still----” The sentence ended in a little sigh. There was no denying the fact that Louis Gaston’s descent from the pedestal upon which she had mentally placed him, had been a great blow. Miss Trevennon’s time passed very agreeably in Baltimore. Mrs. Guion, as yet, had only a small circle of friends, but most of these called upon her cousin, and several invitations resulted from these visits. As to Alan, the number of invitations he received was quite amusing. He had been twice to the club, and had delivered only one or two of his various letters, and made only one or two visits, when the cards of invitation began to pour in. He happened to have a few desirable acquaintances in Baltimore, his appearance was distinguished, and he was known to be rich, and these three facts, taken together, sufficiently account for the degree of popularity of which he found himself possessed. One thing that rather surprised Margaret was the readiness with which her cousin would throw aside other engagements in order to drive her out, or take her to the theatre, or contribute, in any way, to her enjoyment. He even stayed at home one whole rainy evening, when Mrs. Guion was engaged up-stairs with one of the children, who was unwell, in order, as he distinctly avowed, to have a long talk with her. When Miss Trevennon and Mr. Decourcy found themselves alone in the drawing-room, the latter threw himself, at full length, upon a low lounge, drawn up before the fire, and, fixing his eyes enjoyingly on Margaret, as she sat opposite, he drew a long breath of restful satisfaction, saying: “Now this is real enjoyment. You don’t know it, perhaps, but it is just what I have longed for. Amy has really done this room charmingly, and has contrived to get precisely the atmosphere I like in it. The confusion of sweet and pungent odors from those plants yonder is just faint enough to be agreeable; and, far above all, my fair cousin, with her silken draperies and beautiful pose, puts a climax to my happiness. You have a talent for attitude, my Marguerite--do you know it? You always place yourself to advantage. I don’t know whether it is nature or art, but it is equally admirable, in either case.”