“Because we wish to have our courtship perfectly unsuspected,” she answered. “Charles Morris—there, you see I have made no bad selection—Charles is a little embarrassed just now; some unfortunate speculations and business matters entangle him. Our engagement may last a year, and I never could endure hearing Aunt Margaret announce with such self-complacency, that her niece, Miss Meta Hallowell, was engaged, actually engaged, here, at the commencement of her first season. If we were to be married now, within a month or so, I would endeavor to bear it, but to bear it at every dinner-party, every morning visit, and every _soirée_, would surely kill me, and put an end to all Charles’s prospects of future happiness. Our plan is this, to keep perfectly quiet until his affairs are _en traine_, then announce our intention of marriage to Tettie and Aunt Margaret, just immediately before the ceremony, and thus avoid all talk and interference. But poor Charles says he cannot exist without seeing me once in a while as a lover, so with your permission we will chance to meet here now and then. I know he has a calling acquaintance with you—there lies his card uppermost on your card-basket.” “Yes,” I replied. “He called yesterday. I did not know his call was intended to prepare the way for such a momentous affair as this.” “But you will help me, Enna, pet, will you not?” said Meta, coaxingly. “There is no impropriety in it, prude”—and I consented. It was wrong, I know; mysteries and concealments rarely turn out well, and are always injudicious; but I was very young, entirely my own mistress, for my dear old father and Aunt Mary fancied I had the judgment of a woman of forty; and, moreover, I could not refuse any thing to dear Meta. I had not liked Mr. Morris heretofore; true, he was, as Meta had said, “perfectly unexceptionable,” being a young merchant of good standing in society, and having the reputation of some wealth. I knew very well that there was no fear of Mrs. Hunsdon objecting to him; but to me he had always seemed too bland, too artificial; he never, by any chance forgot himself; then I had heard a gossiping story about him, although I did not respect the source from whence it had proceeded, still it had prejudiced me against him. I had been told by a scandal-loving connection of ours, that Mr. Morris, a year before, had addressed a Miss Wilson, and would have eloped with her had not her friends interposed. This Miss Wilson was an ugly, red-haired heiress, with little brains, excessive vulgarity, but an immense estate. She was entirely out of the set of his associates, and if he had addressed her, it had been from mercenary motives. But now that I heard Meta’s account of her engagement with him, I dismissed Kate Holton’s story from my mind as a contemptible gossiping falsehood, which I should have been ashamed of listening to, and endeavored to find him as agreeable and good as dear Meta said he was.