“I have no doubt, Ernest,” replied Mr. Vanclure, with more tenderness than he wished to manifest, “that you will succeed--yes, you will succeed. But still, both of you are rather young to marry.” “We think differently,” answered Ernest, with a smile, “I am nearly twenty five.” “Ah? are you that old? Well, bless me, I believe you are, since I come to think about it. Dear me! how time does fly--yes, how time does fly. You have got to be a man before I thought about it. Young people do grow up so fast--so fast--and Clara is a grown woman, too. Well; well.” “Since you have discovered that we are both grown,” said Ernest with a smile, “may I hope that you will not oppose our wishes?” “And if I did,” answered Mr. Vanclure, not knowing what he ought to say, “What would you do--yes, what would you do?” “I should endeavor to overcome your opposition.” “And I guess you think you’d succeed with your eloquence. You lawyers are cunning dogs,” said the old gentleman, breaking into a laugh, which, rather than otherwise, indicated approval of this feature of the legal character, “yes, cunning dogs. If I give you a chance to argue the case, I’m satisfied I’ll lose; for you’ll convince me that Clara will land in eternal perdition unless she marries you--yes marries you--and nobody else. I don’t want to get into an argument with you lawyers. So if the arrangement suits Clara, I’ll have nothing more to say. It will take a lawyer anyhow to manage the estate to which she will fall heir some of these days. The thing is now getting beyond my comprehension, and I will soon have to get a lawyer to untangle some of my affairs--yes, some of my affairs.” In this way the old man gave his consent. Here we must say that the reader would do Ernest the grossest injustice to suppose that the metallic virtue of the young lady was the chief consideration that influenced his affections. Clara appeared lovely in his eyes, and he would have been willing to enter into the matrimonial relation without any prospect of dower. Nearly every one in the community believed that Ernest was governed in this _affaire du cœur_ by mercenary considerations. There is nothing more certain than that an impecunious man who pays his addresses to a wealthy woman, will incur the imputation of improper motives. It is a sad fact, that the world is envious. People, in their secret souls, dislike to see their neighbors lifted by sudden prosperity to an elevation above their own level. Why should not such good fortune have happened to themselves? is the galling, latent thought of their hearts, to which they would be ashamed to give audible expression. The thought lurks in the darkest recesses of the breast like a slimy viper, and well deserves a place in the horrid abode of that fearful envy, so graphically described by Ovid: _Pallor in ore sedet, macies in corpore toto,_ _Nusquam recta acies; livent rubigine dentes,_ _Pectora felle virent, lingua est suffusa veneno._[1]