“Because we want our first daughter to make as good a match as possible, and I don’t see that the young man’s prospects are very brilliant. If the Improvement Company shouldn’t succeed, he’ll be nothing but your clerk, with no certainty nor any expectations.” “I feel entirely easy about the money I’ve put into the Improvement Company,” said the merchant, “and Phil will do as well as I, he having an equal number of shares. If worst comes to worst with him from that speculation, and he and Lu continue to like each other, I can take him into partnership. That would give him financial standing: there are plenty of young men of good families who would pay well for such an opportunity, for iron is up, and to stay.” Mrs. Tramlay tossed her head, and replied, “I didn’t ever suppose it would be necessary to set a young man upon his feet in order to get a husband for one of our daughters.” “Quite right: don’t suppose so yet, either, for I assure you he is fully earning whatever it might be necessary to give him. I find that he makes a very favorable impression upon the class of people who visit the iron-houses, or whom the iron-houses look after. He’s already got two or three desirable little orders, besides being on the track of others.” “But he’s only a clerk, after all,” persisted Mrs. Tramlay. “Say but the word, and I’ll make him my partner to-morrow,” said Tramlay. “Don’t be hasty,” replied the lady, in some alarm. “He is not Lucia’s only chance, you know.” Tramlay looked inquiringly; his wife appeared embarrassed, and averted her eyes. “Oh! You mean Marge, I suppose? Well, if Lu should really want him, I wouldn’t like to make her unhappy by saying no. But really, my dear,”--here the merchant put his arm around his wife,--“really, now, don’t you think that a man who was a beau of yours a quarter of a century ago is rather mature to be the husband of an impulsive girl?” “Young wives can’t live on impulse alone,” said Mrs. Tramlay. “Mr. Marge has means.” “Not to any great extent, that any one has been able to discover,” interrupted the merchant. “And he has social position, which is of more importance in New York than anything else,” continued the wife. “He knows many prominent people whom we do not, and if he were to marry Lucia it would improve Margie’s opportunities. We haven’t gone into society as much as we should, and I’m afraid our daughters will have to suffer for it.” “Don’t trouble your head with any such fears,” said the husband, with more than his usual earnestness. “Girls like ours--bless them!--aren’t going to make bad matches.” “Besides,” said Mrs. Tramlay, retracing her thoughts, “Mr. Marge doesn’t look the least bit old: he is not the kind of man to grow old. I can’t see that he appears a day older than he did years ago.” “Bless your sentimental heart!” said the merchant. “He doesn’t, eh? Well, it does you credit to think so, and it doesn’t make me jealous in the least.”