"I thought he was rather distinguished looking," interrupted Fanny.
"He is," said Virginia quickly. "What's more—he's a gentleman."
Jimmie rose and walking over to where Virginia was sitting, stood looking at her, his hands in his pockets. Almost sarcastically he asked:
"Then see here, if—this—Mr. Stafford is distinguished looking and a gentleman, as well as rich, will you please tell me what kind of a man you want?"
The girl made no reply, but with a thoughtful expression on her face, gazed through the window. It was now quite dark outside and the river below was dotted here and there with the lights of steamboats and sailing boats as they made their way up and down the broad stream. Jim's chance remark had set her thinking. Others beside herself were speculating as to the purport of Mr. Stafford's attentions? That they were honorable she had not the slightest doubt, although at one time she had been a little afraid of him. Those invitations to dinner and his manner on one or two occasions she had rather resented, but for some time past now he had quite changed. He was more respectful, more sincere. Supposing the impossible were to happen—supposing he were to ask her to be his wife? For all she knew, the proposal might come that very evening. It might be part of the plan of this sudden impromptu dinner. What would she say to him? Did she love him? Frankly she did not—yet. Could she ever love him? The answer to that was in the future. Ought a girl to marry a man whom she knew in her heart she did not love? He was rich, the marriage was in every way desirable. She would have every comfort, but could real happiness come of a marriage which on both sides would be, after all, only a mockery, a hollow sham?
Jimmie, impatient, repeated his question.
"Will you kindly tell us what kind of a man you want?"
Virginia looked up. Calmly she answered:
"I—I want a man I can love."
The clerk gave a low whistle. Sarcastically he said: