"'Anastatia talked of him,' she continued. 'I remember her asking me if "her man" were not a pretty fellow, and if he had not sweet blue eyes and the greatest simplicity I ever knew but in a child. It was true enough; and he was a great deal more than that--a great deal more than she ever understood. Poor Anastatia! I advised her to marry him, but she seemed to look on that as impossible. I remember her saying that it would be different if she were not an acknowledged beauty; but it was expected that she would marry well, and he was comparatively poor, and not even singular. He was accomplished, and the soul of honour, but simple, provokingly simple, with no pretensions to carry off the toast of a county. My dear, if he had been notorious in any way--for dissipation, for brawling, for extravagance--I believe it would have satisfied the gaping world, and he would have had a chance. But there was nothing to talk about, and Anastatia had not the courage to take him for himself. She had the world at her feet, and paid for it by being bound by its opinion.' "Here my grandmother, who was apt to moralize, especially when relating biographies of young ladies, gave another sigh. "'Then why did she encourage him?' inquired Aunt Harriet; who also moralized, but with more of indignation and less of philosophy. "'I believe she loved him in spite of herself; but at the last, when he offered, she turned prudent and refused him.' "'Poor man! Did he ever marry?' "'Yes, and very happily--a charming woman. But the strange part of the story is, that he came quite unexpectedly into a large property that was in his family.' "'Did he? Then he would have been as good a match as most of her admirers?' "'Better. It was a fine estate. Poor Anastatia!' "'Serve her right,' said my aunt, shortly.