Of much interest to us, in the light of fast approaching events, was the curious conduct of Dora Remsen during this period. It will be remembered that Mr. Randolph had lost an opportunity of declaring himself, and that he warned the young lady against Mr. Thauret as one not to be trusted. This kind of advice, it is to be presumed, is offered by the one giving it, with some idea, however distant, that it may be accepted. Yet the histories of many lives would show that only a small percentage of similar advice has ever been received with acquiescence. Indeed, it might also be said that many persons have been hurried into each other's arms by the interference of wiseacres, when perhaps, if left to themselves, they would have drifted apart. At least so it seemed in this case. Mr. Thauret had become not only a constant visitor at the home of the Remsens', but he seemed a welcome one. He certainly was a most entertaining man, and his manners utterly unapproachable. He had travelled, and not only had seen the world, but had observed it, which is another thing. The result of this was that he had a fund of narrative always at his disposal, and his conversation was so attractive that he easily monopolized the attention of a _coterie_ at any social gathering. Mr. Randolph noted with growing uneasiness that Dora was always one of the group who listened to these tales. What disturbed him most, was that after the greatest amount of time spent and wasted, in seeking some flagrant defect in the man's character, he was at last compelled to acknowledge to himself that he had nothing against Mr. Thauret, except a prejudice. But that prejudice was as great, if not greater, than ever. He determined at length to speak to Mr. Mitchel about it, and did so one afternoon when the rooms were crowded, his rival being as usual the centre of an attentive group. "Mitchel," he began, "how the deuce did that fellow Thauret get into this family?" "Dora met him somewhere, I believe. Why?" "Why? Can you ask that?" "Can I? Why certainly I can. I did ask you,--Why?" "I declare, Mitchel, you are either as blind as a bat, or else you have eyes only for Miss Emily. Don't you see the danger that the younger sister is in, associating with that man?" "Well now, Randolph, to be candid, I must admit I do not see the danger. What is it?" "Why, suppose--suppose she fell in love with him? Suppose she married him!" "Well, what then?" "What then? You would provoke a saint. You talk as coolly about that child's throwing herself away on a--a nobody--as though we were discussing a shot at billiards." "Randolph, my friend, let me give you a bit of advice. When a man wishes to marry a girl, there are two important rules which he must observe, and both of them I believe you have neglected." "What do you mean?" "Before I explain, let me ask you a question. Am I right in supposing that you wish to marry Dora yourself?"