This evening, she seized a beautiful perfume bottle that stood on my toilet, and opening it, spilled it half on her handkerchief, though one drop would fill the whole apartment with richest odor.
"Do not break that bottle, Margaret; it is very beautiful, and Ernest gave it me this very morning."
"Oh! nonsense, I am the most careful creature in the world. Once in a while, to be sure,—but then accidents will happen, you know. O Gabriella I have something to tell you. Mr. Harland wants me to marry him,—ha, ha, ha!"
"Well, you seemed pleased, Margaret. He is an accomplished gentleman, and an agreeable one. Do you like him?"
"No! I liked him very well, till he wanted me to like him better, and now I detest him. He is all froth,—does not know much more than I do myself. No, no,—that will never do."
"Perhaps you like some one else better?" said I, thinking if Margaret was ever caught in the matrimonial noose, it must be a lasso, such as are thrown round the neck of the wild horses of the prairies.
"What makes you say that?" she asked, quickly, and my beautiful essence bottle was demolished by some sudden jerk which brought it in contact with the marble table. "The brittle thing!" she exclaimed, tossing the fragments on the carpet, at the risk of cutting our slippers and wounding our feet. "I would not thank Ernest for such baby trifles,—I was scarcely touching it. What makes you think I like anybody better?"
"I merely asked the question," I answered, closing my work box, and drawing it nearer, so that her depredating fingers could not reach it. She had already destroyed half its contents.
"I do like somebody a great deal better," she said, tossing her hair over her forehead and veiling her eyes; "but if you guessed till doomsday, you could not imagine who it is."
"I pity him, whoever it may be," said I, laughing.