"Heigho!" sighed the sentimental Margaret. "To think of this vulgar, selfish man intruding himself between me and such a noble creature as Staunton! It is really heart-breaking." "Not quite so bad as that!" said Arthurine. "Moreland, as you know, has a good five hundred thousand dollars; and Staunton has nothing, or at most a couple of thousand dollars a-year--a mere feather in the balance against such a golden weight." "Love despises gold," murmured Margaret. "Nonsense!" replied her sister; "I would not even despise silver, if it were in sufficient quantity. Only think of the balls and parties, the fêtes and pic-nics! Saratoga in the summer--perhaps even London or Paris! The mere thought of it makes my mouth water." "Talk not of such joys, to be bought at such a price!" cried Margaret, quoting probably from some of her favourite novels. "Well, don't make yourself unhappy now," said Arthurine. "Moreland will not be here till tea-time; and there are six long hours to that. If we had only a few new novels to pass the time! I cannot imagine why Cooper is so lazy. Only one book in a year! What if you were to begin to write, sister? I have no doubt you would succeed as well as Mrs Mitchell. Bulwer is so fantastical; and even Walter Scott is getting dull." "Alas, Howard!" sighed Margaret, looking to me for sympathy with her sorrows. "Patience, dear Margaret," said I. "If possible, I will help you to get rid of the old fellow. At any rate, I will try." Rat-tat-tat at the house door. Arthurine put up her finger to enjoin silence, and listened. Another loud knock. "A visit!" exclaimed she with sparkling eyes. "Ha! ladies; I hear the rustle of their gowns." And as she spoke the door opened, and the Misses Pearce came swimming into the room, in all the splendour of violet-coloured silks, covered with feathers, lace, and embroideries, and bringing with them an atmosphere of perfume.