“Mamma, I do not believe I can put off Frank Dormer any longer; he is desperately in love, and determined to make a declaration,” said Louisa, one morning, as she sat assisting Kate to trim a ball-dress with which she expected to charm all eyes. “It would be a pity to lose so rich and generous an admirer, Lou,” was the reply of the prudent mother. “But suppose I should accept him, mamma?” “That you would not do; Frank Dormer is only rich in expectancy, while Clarence Ferrers has both wealth and fame.” “I like Frank best;” said the young lady, coolly. “My dear Louisa, have you lost your senses?” “No, madam; but you may as well let me tell you now, that, for all his fortune, I would not marry Clarence Ferrers.” “Why not?” “Oh, he is so frightfully sensible, I should never dare do or say an absurd thing for fear of seeing those great _lamping_ eyes looking reproval at me. Besides, he does not seem inclined to offer himself.” “How can you say so, Louisa? I am sure he never leaves us at a party, and seems never so happy as when sitting near us and watching your graceful movements when you are dancing.” “Well, he can’t expect me to drop into his arms by the mere fascination of his look. If he were not so rich, I should not think of him for a moment, while I really like Frank. He is full of gayety and frolic, and with him I should have a merry life. Clarence Ferrers is too old and grave for me. Don’t you think so, Kate?” Kate started at the question; she had evidently been in one of her dreamy moods, and perhaps had not heard a word of their conversation.