"I wonder who you will marry!" said Augusta, with the sudden fervor of a young lady on so interesting a topic.
"I don't know, only nobody that I have ever seen yet," replied Angila, with animation.
"He must be handsome, I suppose," said Augusta.
"No," replied Angila, "I don't care for beauty. A man should have a decided air of the gentleman, with an expression of talent, height, and all that – but I don't care about what you call beauty."
"You are very moderate, indeed, in your requirements, my dear," said her mother, laughing. "And pray, my love, what have you to offer this rara avis in return for such extraordinary charms."
"Love, mamma," replied the gay girl, smiling.
"And suppose, my dear," pursued her mother, "that your hero should set as high an estimate upon himself as you do upon yourself. Your tall, elegant, talented man, may expect a wife who has fortune, beauty and talents, too."
Angila laughed. She was not vain, but she knew she was pretty, and she was sufficiently of a belle to be satisfied with her own powers if she could only meet with the man, so she said, playfully.
"Well, then, mamma, he won't be my hero, that's all."
And no doubt she answered truly. The possession of such gifts are very apt to vary in young ladies' eyes according to the gentleman's perception of their charms. And heroes differ from one another, according as the pronouns "mine and thine," may be pre-fixed to his title.
"And such a bijou of a house as I mean to have," continued Angila, with animation. "The back parlor and dining-room shall open into a conservatory, where I shall have any quantity of canary-birds – "
"My dear," interrupted her mother, "what nonsense you do talk."
"Why, mamma," said Angila, opening her eyes very wide, "don't you like canaries?"
"Yes, my dear," replied her mother, "I don't object to aviaries or conservatories, only to your talking of them in this way, as matters of course and necessity. They are all very well for rich people."
"Well, then, I mean to be rich," continued Angila, playfully.
"That's the very nonsense I complain of," said her mother. "It's barely possible, but certainly very improbable, Angila, that you ever should be rich; and considering you have been used to nothing of the kind, it really amuses me to hear you talk so. Your father and I have lived all our lives very comfortably and happily, Angila, without either aviary or conservatory, and I rather think you will do the same, my love."
"Your father and I!" What a falling off was there! for although Angila loved her father and mother dearly, she could not imagine herself intent upon household occupations, an excellent motherly woman some thirty years hence, any more than that her beau ideal should wear pepper and salt like her father.
"It was all very well for papa and mamma," but to persuade a girl of eighteen that she wants no more than her mother, whose heart happens to be like Mrs. Mervale, just then full of a new carpet that Mr. Mervale is hesitating about affording, is out of the question.
And, unreasonable as it may be, whoever would make a young girl more rational, destroys at once the chief charm of her youth – the exuberance of her fresh imagination, that gilds not only the future, but throws a rosy light upon all surrounding objects. Her visions, I grant you, are absurd, but the girl without visions is a clod of the valley, for she is without imagination – and without imagination, what is life? what is love?"
Never fear that her visions will not be fulfilled, and therefore bring disappointment – for the power carries the pleasure with it. The same gift that traces the outline, fills up the sketch. The girls who dream of heroes are those most ready to fall in love with any body – and no woman is so hard to interest as she who never had a vision, and consequently sees men just as they are; and so if Angila talked nonsense, Mrs. Mervale's sense was not much wiser.
Angila was a pretty, playful, romantic girl, rather intolerant of the people she did not like, and enthusiastic about those she did; full of life and animation, she was a decided belle in the gay circle in which she moved.
Miss Lenox was her dearest friend for the time being, and the proposed separation for the next six months was looked upon as a cruel affliction, only to be softened by the most frequent and confidential correspondence.
For the first few weeks of Augusta's absence, the promises exchanged on both sides were vehemently fulfilled. Letters were written two or three limes a week, detailing every minute circumstance that happened to either. But at the end of that time Angila was at a party where she met Robert Hazlewood, who talked to her for some time. It was not a dancing party, and consequently they conversed together more than they had ever done before. He seemed extremely amused with her liveliness, and looked at her with unmistakable admiration. Had Augusta Lenox been there to see, perhaps Angila would not have received his attentions so graciously; but there being nothing to remind her of his being her "favorite aversion," she talked with animation, pleased with the admiration she excited, without being annoyed by any inconvenient reminiscences. And not only was Miss Lenox absent, but Miss Morton was present, and Angila thought she looked over at them a little anxiously; so that a little spirit of rivalry heightened, if not her pleasure, certainly Hazlewood's consequence in her eyes. Girls are often much influenced by each other in these matters – and the absence of Miss Lenox, who "did not think much of Robert Hazlewood," with the presence of Miss Morton who did, had no small influence in Angila's future fate.
"Did you have a pleasant party?" asked Mrs. Mervale, who had not been with her daughter the evening before.
"Yes, very pleasant," replied Angila; "one of the pleasantest 'conversation parties' I have ever been at."
And "who was there – and who did you talk to?" were the next questions, which launched Angila in a full length description of every thing and every body – and among them figured quite conspicuously Robert Hazlewood.
"And you found him really clever?" said her mother.
"Oh, decidedly," replied her daughter.
"Who," said her brother, looking up from his breakfast, "Hazlewood? Certainly he is. He's considered one of the cleverest among the young lawyers. Decidedly a man of talent."
Angila looked pleased.
"His father is a man of talent before him," observed Mrs. Mervale. "As a family, the Hazlewoods have always been distinguished for ability. This young man is ugly, you say, Angila?"
"Yes – " replied Angila, though with some hesitation. "Yes, he is ugly, certainly – but he has a good countenance; and when he converses he is better looking than I thought him."
"It's a pity he's conceited," said Mrs. Mervale, innocently; her impression of the young man being taken from her daughter's previous description of him. "Since he is really clever, it's a pity, for it's such a drawback always."
"Conceited! I don't think he's conceited," said Angila, quite forgetting her yesterday's opinion.
"Don't you? I thought it was you who said so, my dear," replied her mother, quietly.
"Yes, I did once think so," said Angila, slightly blushing at her own inconsistency. "I don't know why I took the idea in my head – but in fact I talked more to him, and became better acquainted with him last evening than I ever have before. When there is dancing, there is so little time for conversation; and he really talks very well."
"He is engaged to Miss Morton, you say?" continued Mrs. Mervale.
"Well, I don't know," replied Angila, adding, as she remembered the animated looks of admiration he had bestowed upon herself, "I doubt it – that is the report, however."
"Hazlewood's no more engaged to Mary Morton than I am," said young Mervale, carelessly. "Where did you get that idea?"
"Why every body says so, George," said Angila.
"Pshaw! every body's saying so don't make it so."
"But he's very attentive to her," replied Angila.
"Well,