"I thought you and I ought to settle it between ourselves about--Margaret. Because if we both go on letting time pass, each waiting to see what t'other will do, some other man will slip in, and carry off the prize, and there will both of us be, out in the cold." "Oh, there's little fear of that," said Phil. "Why, the fellows are all coming after her. She's far the finest girl in town." "But you see how she treats them, all alike; looks down on them all, even while she's pleasant to them; and doesn't lead any one of them on a step further than the rest." "Ay, but in time--she's eighteen now, you know." "Why, did you ever try to imagine her regarding any one of them as a husband; as a companion to live with day after day, and to agree with, and look up to, and yield to, as a wife does? Just fancy Margaret accommodating herself to the everlasting company of Phil Van Cortlandt, or Jack Cruger, or Bob Livingstone, or Harry Colden, or Fred Philipse, or Billy Skinner, or any of them." "I know," said I; "but many a girl has taken a man that other men couldn't see anything in." "Ay, the women have a way of their own of judging men; or perhaps they make the best of what they can get. But you may depend on't, Margaret has too clear a sight, and too bright a mind, and thinks too well of herself, to mate with an uncouth cub, or a stupid dolt, or a girlish fop, or any of these that hang about her." 'Twas not Phil's way to speak ill of people, but when one considered men in comparison with Margaret, they looked indeed very crude and unworthy. "You know," he added, "how soon she tires of any one's society." "But," said I, dubiously, "if none of them has a chance, how is it with us?" "Why, 'tis well-proved that she doesn't tire of us. For years and years, she has had us about her every day, and has been content with our society. That shows she could endure us to be always near her."