"My dear aunt," said Mortimer, apologetically, "I will freely own that I am not a very sentimental person. But what of that? My intended marriage with my cousin, Adelaide, is by no means a romantic affair. In the first place, Augustus Horton and I are partners. My marriage with his sister is therefore advisable, on the ground of commercial interests. That is reason number one, not very romantic to begin with. Reason number two is this; you have two nephews and one niece; you wish your favorite nephew (meaning me) to marry your niece, in order that one of these days, having no children of your own, you may leave them the bulk of your fortune. There's nothing particularly romantic in this. You say to the two young people, 'Marry,' and the two young people say, 'Very well, we're agreeable!' and behold the business is settled. Very advisable, and very proper, no doubt, but not a subject for romance, my dear aunt." "Bah, Mortimer, you're incorrigible; but I know that at the bottom of your heart you're very much in love with your pretty cousin, notwithstanding your pretending indifference." "Come, then, my best of aunts. Forgive your most perverse of nephews, and answer me one question, for the benefit of Gilbert Margrave here, who has been bewitched by one of the lilies of your ball-room." "Indeed, and pray who is the lady?" "That is the very question we want you to answer," replied Mortimer, leading his aunt to the curtained doorway of the ball-room. "See, there she is, that dark-eyed girl, talking to my cousin Adelaide." "That is Miss Leslie." "What Miss Leslie?" "The daughter of Mr. Gerald Leslie, of New Orleans." "Indeed!" exclaimed Mortimer. "Yes. But you seem surprised." "I am a little," replied the young man, thoughtfully; "I did not know Leslie had a daughter." "But you see he has, since she is an intimate friend of Adelaide's." "How did they become acquainted?" "They were educated at the same school." "Indeed. She is a very lovely girl, and you must be good enough to introduce us to her, by-and-by." "Take care, Mortimer," said his aunt; "you are surely not going to fall in love with Miss Leslie." "Not the least danger, my dear aunt. Though I would not say as much for poor Gilbert here." "Pshaw! Mortimer," exclaimed the young artist, reddening; "it is the painter's privilege to admire beauty without loving it." "No doubt of it, my dear boy," answered Mortimer; "but unfortunately, sometimes a certain little rosy-legged gentleman, with a bow and arrows, called Cupid, steps in; the painter forgets his privilege, and the man falls in love with the artist's model." "Well, I must leave you, gentlemen," said Mrs. Montresor; "I think I see Adelaide and Miss Leslie coming this way, so if you want an introduction to the young South American you must obtain it through my niece. Au revoir, naughty boys!"