“Ah; this is a treat,” she exclaimed, “here is true comfort;” and taking possession of her favorite lounge, she gave me a half-laughing, half-serious account of the bustle and preparatory arrangements for the approaching wedding. “How stupid is all this ceremony, Enna, dear,” she continued, “aunt fusses about, and Therese looks as grand as a queen. Then Mr. Folwell is so wearying; how Tettie can fancy him is a wonder to me. I have never heard him call her ‘dear Therese’ yet; it is always ‘Miss Hallowell’—such dignity chills me. When I marry, there shall be no grandeur about the affair. I want quiet, home love. My husband shall call me ‘Meta, darling,’ varying it once in a while with ‘angel bird,’ and all sorts of sweet expletives; he shall love me dearly, put me in a nice little home like this—just such a library; here he shall study and write, and I’ll sit beside him, sew and sing, and look at him, and bless heaven for making me so happy.” “Why, Meta, your aunt and sister would lift their hands in horror,” I said, laughingly. “But where are you going to find such a nice lover—will Mr. Lawson be all this?” A look of vexation overspread Meta’s pretty face as she replied, “Oh no, not Mr. Lawson. I know aunt would be delighted with him, but he is almost as stupid as the rest of them.” “Mr. Lawson stupid!” I exclaimed. “Meta, where is your taste? He is quiet and calm, I admit, but not stupid. You naughty girl, not to love him; he is just the husband for you, madcap. To be sure he might not indulge in so many affectionate expletives, as you say your husband must, but he would watch over your happiness tenderly.” “Better marry him yourself, Enna, since you think him so agreeable,” said Meta, a little quickly; then springing toward me, she threw her arms around me exclaiming, “I have just such a lover as I have pictured, pet one; and I depend on your assistance in my love affair.” Now, young as I was, I was a perfect model of propriety—the idea of being an assistant in a “love affair,” frightened me out of my wits; for I was in truth, a “born old maid,” as my old nurse, Katy, used to call me. “Me assist you?” I asked. “How can that be possible; I—who never go out any where, never see any one?” “For that very reason,” replied Meta, laughing heartily at my fright and astonishment, “you are just the very one; and that is why I have selected you. This paragon lover of mine dislikes ceremony as much as I do. He is perfectly unexceptionable; when I tell you his name, you will admit that he is. If he had addressed Tettie, I know she would have had him—that is, if the rich Mr. Folwell had not come in the way; but, thank Heaven, he did not want Tettie!” “Then why do you need any assistance, Meta?” I asked, in a perplexed tone.