"It is my nature, Philip--born in me, cherished in me. My father, I know, would not listen to the match, as highly as he esteems you. I had a sister, a woman when I was a child--you remember her, do you not? she married against his will, married poor, and tried this 'love in a cottage' sentiment--he never forgave her, and she never prospered; she is dead, poor thing, and I do not care to emulate her." "Humph! I am to understand that your father then rears his children as slaves to be sold to the highest bidder--that you hold yourself ready for the market?" "Don't provoke me, Philip." The black eyes were fixed upon him haughtily. "Forgive me, Virginia. I am half-mad just now, you know. You can not say that you have not encouraged me." "Perhaps I have--shown you the affection of a cousin. I have felt as if you were one of the family. I might even have felt a still closer interest, had I allowed myself. But I am, what you never will be--prudent. I may yet see some one whom I can really respect and love, who has also the fortune you lack; if not, I shall accept some one for glory's sake, and let the love go! Don't look so scornful, Phil. I have beauty, fashion, pride of place, family, every thing but the means wherewith to set these off magnificently; and this has made me ambitious. Dear Philip, much as I like you, I could never be contented to wait your slow promotion." "Prudence is very commendable, Virginia. Its maxims fall with double force from lips as beautiful as yours. I will try to learn it. I, a man, upon whom such cold duties are supposed most naturally to devolve, will be taught by you, a soft, tender woman, who looks as if made for the better purpose of loving and teaching love. Farewell! when you see me again, perhaps I shall rival you in prudence." "You are not going away, cousin Philip?" He was already opening the door into the hall, as she followed him, and caught his hand. "Oh, yes, I am. Since only rich men can possess the happiness such gentle creatures have it in their power to bestow, I must make haste after wealth," and he looked down bitterly at the proud girl over whose face was coming a faint expression of remorse and relenting. "Shall I not hear from you?" she asked, quite humbly. "No; not until I am in a fair way to achieve that which will recommend me to your _disinterested affection_!" He withdrew his hand from her clasp, and went out with a quick, resounding step which told of the firmness of his resolution. The girl who had rejected him sank down in the nearest seat. She had never seen him look more--as a woman is proud to have a man look--handsome, self-reliant, determined, than in the hour of his disappointment. Two or three tears trickled through her jeweled fingers; she shook them off impatiently.