"I ought to confide in your judgment, aunt, I know; but I cannot see as you do in this particular instance." "Then you ought rather to suspect the correctness of your own observation, when it leads to conclusions so utterly opposed to mine." To this Margaretta did not reply. It seemed too much like giving up her own rationality to assent to it, and she did not wish to pain her aunt by objections. On the next evening, a quiet, intelligent, and modest-looking young man called in, and spent an hour or two with Margaretta and her aunt. He did not present so imposing and showy an exterior as did Mr. Smith, but his conversation had in it far more substance and real common sense. After he had retired, Margaretta said-- "Well, it is no use; I cannot take any pleasure in the society of Thomas Fielding." "Why not, my dear?" asked the aunt. "Oh, I don't know; but he is so dull and prosy." "I am sure he don't seem dull to me, Margaretta. He doesn't talk a great deal, it is true; but, then, what he does say is characterized by good sense, and evinces a discriminating mind." "But don't you think, aunt, that my money has some influence in bringing him here?" And Margaretta looked up archly into her aunt's face. "It may have, for aught I can tell. We cannot see the motives of any one. But I should be inclined to think that money would have little influence with Thomas Fielding, were not every thing else in agreement. He is, I think, a man of fixed and genuine principles." "No doubt, aunt. But, still, I can't relish his society. And if I can't, I can't." "Very true. If you can't enjoy his company, why you can't. But it cannot be, certainly, from any want, on his part, of gentlemanly manners, or kind attentions to you." "No; but, then, he is so dull. I should die if I had no other company." "Indeed, my child," Aunt Riston said, in a serious tone, "you ought to make the effort to esteem and relish the society of those who have evidently some stability of character, and whose conversation has in it the evidence of mature observation, combined with sound and virtuous principles, more than you do the flippant nonsense of mere ladies' men, or selfish, unprincipled fortune-hunters." "Indeed, aunt, you are too severe on my favourites!" And Margaretta laughed gaily. But to her aunt there was something sad in the sound of that laugh. It seemed like the knell of long and fondly cherished hopes. "What do you think of Margaretta Riston, Mary?" asked Thomas Fielding of his sister, on the next evening after the visit just mentioned. "Why do you ask so seriously, brother?" the sister said, looking into his face, with a smile playing about her lips. "For a serious reason, sister. Can you guess what it is?" "Perhaps so, and therefore I will not tax your modesty so far as to make you confess it." "Very well, Mary. And now answer my question. What do you think of Margaretta?" "I know nothing against her, brother."