“Very seldom in these days,” said the commissioner. “And love altogether, as one should think you might know by this time, Mrs. Falconer--a sensible woman of the world, as you are; but no woman, even the most sensible, can ever believe it--love altogether has surprisingly little to do in the real management and business of the world.” “Surprisingly little,” replied Mrs. Falconer, placidly. “But seriously, my dear, here is an opportunity of making an excellent match for Georgiana, if you will be so obliging as not to counteract me.” “I am the last man in the world to counteract you, my dear; but it will never do,” said Mr. Falconer; “and you will only make Georgiana ridiculous, as she has been several times already, from the failure of these love-matches. I tell you, Mrs. Falconer, Count Altenberg is no more thinking of love than I am--nor is he a man in the least likely to fall in love.” “He is more than half in love with my Georgiana already,” said the mother, “if I have any eyes.” “You have eyes, and very fine eyes, my dear, as every body knows, and no one better than myself--they have but one defect.” “Defect!” “They sometimes see more than exists.” “You would not be so incredulous, Mr. Falconer, if you had seen the rapture with which the count listens to Georgiana when she plays on the harp. He is prodigiously fond of music.” “And of painting too,” said the commissioner; “for, by your account of the matter, he seemed to have been more than half in love also with a picture this morning.” “A picture is no very dangerous rival, except in a _modern novel_,” replied Mrs. Falconer. “But beware, commissioner--and remember, I understand these things--I warn you in time--beware of the original of that picture, and never again talk to me of going to see those Percys; for though the girl may be only an unfashioned country beauty, and Georgiana has so many polished advantages, yet there is no knowing what whim a young man might take into his head.”