“I am not actually engaged—she has a right to look a good deal higher—but I hope to make her my wife as soon as I am in a position to marry. She has given me so much encouragement that I don’t think she will refuse me when the right time comes.” “But, my dear boy, she is always giving encouragement,” exclaimed Juanita, anxiously. Dear little Lucy Grenville was at the piano at the other end of the room playing an infantile arrangement of “Batti, batti,” with fingers of iron, while mother and grandmother hung over her enraptured, and while the rest of the family party talked their loudest, so the cousins in the nook by the fire were not afraid of being overheard. “She is the most encouraging young lady I ever heard of. She has jilted and been jilted a dozen times, I believe——” “You _believe_,” echoed Harrington, with intense indignation; “I wonder that a girl of your good sense—in most things—can give heed to such idle gossip.” “Do you mean to say that she has not been jilted?” “Certainly not. I admit that her name has been associated with the names of men in society. Silly people who write for the papers have given out things about her. She was to marry Lord Welbeck, Sir Humphrey Random—Heaven knows whom. A girl can’t stay at big houses, and be admired as she has been, without all manner of reports getting about. But she is heartily sick of that kind of life, an endless web of unmeaning gaieties—that is what she herself called it. She will be very glad to settle down to a refined, quiet life—say, at the West End of London, with a victoria and brougham, and a small house, prettily furnished. One can furnish so prettily and so cheaply nowadays,” concluded Harrington, with his mind’s eye upon certain illustrated advertisements he had seen of late—Jacobean dining-rooms—Sheraton drawing-rooms—for a mere song. “I have heard people say that a reformed rake makes a good husband,” said Juanita gravely, “but I have never heard that a reformed flirt makes a good wife.” “It is a shame to talk like that, Juanita. Every handsome girl is more or less a flirt. She can’t help flirting. Men insist upon flirting with her.” “Does your father know you mean to marry Miss Baldwin?” “No, I have never mentioned marriage to him. That will come in good time.” “And do you think he will approve?” “I don’t know. He is full of old-fashioned prejudices; but I don’t see how he can object to my marrying into one of the county families.” “Don’t you think it will be more like Miss Baldwin marrying out of one of the county families? I’m afraid from what I know of her brother and of old Lady Baldwin they would both want her to marry money.” “I suppose they have wanted that for the last four or five years,” answered Harrington; “but it has not come off, and they must be satisfied if she chooses to marry for love.”