"She would not have been considered so if they had been married," replied the gentleman. "Mammas have no mercy on each other in those delicate manoeuvrings. Well, he waltzed with her always; and bent over her--willow-fashion; looked with her at the moon; and wrote a sonnet which she took to herself, for it was addressed 'To mine own dear ----;' and then when, about eight weeks afterwards, we met him at the _dejeuner_ at Sally Lodge, he was as entranced with Lizzie Grey's guitar as he had been with Lelia's harp, sketched her little tiger head for her grandmamma, waltzed with _her_, bent over _her_ willow-fashion, looked with her at the moon, and wrote another sonnet, addressed 'To the loved one.'" "Such men----" exclaimed Mrs. Pierce Bradshaw. She did not finish the sentence, but looked as if such men ought to be exterminated. And so they ought! "There was so much about him that I liked: his fine talents, good manners, excellent position in society, added to his good nature, and----" "Good fortune," added Mrs. Pierce Bradshaw. "No, Mary," said her husband, quietly, "I never was a _mammon worshipper_. This occurred, if you remember, before the yellow pestilence had so completely subverted London, that the very aristocracy knelt and worshipped the golden calf; and no blame to the calf to _receive_ the homage, whatever we may say of those who paid it. "I did not mean _that_ as a reproof, Pierce," replied his wife, most truly. "_I_ think it quite natural to like young men of fortune--we could not get on without them, you know; and it would be very imprudent--very imprudent, indeed--to invite any young man, however excellent. When we want to get these young girls, our poor nieces, off, I declare it is quite melancholy. Jane is becoming _serious_ since she has grown so thin; and I fear the men will think Belle a blue, she has so taken to the British Museum. Oh, how I wish people would live, and bring up, and get off their own daughters! Four marriageable nieces, with such farthing fortunes, are enough to drive any poor aunt distracted!" This was the longest speech Mrs. Bradshaw ever made in her life, and she sighed deeply at its conclusion.