"Is he well off, Ed?" she asked her husband.
"Lots of land, and plenty of money, if he is ever able to collect it. He has inherited two estates."
"He's a good-looking fellow," she mused. "Is he married?"
"There you go again," replied her husband, shaking his forefinger at her in mock reproach. "To a woman with marriageable daughters all roads lead to matrimony, the centre of a woman's universe. All men must be sized up by their matrimonial availability. No, he isn't married."
"That's nice," she rejoined reflectively. "I think we ought to ask him to stay with us while he is in town, don't you?"
"He's not married," rejoined the doctor slyly, "but the next best thing—he's engaged."
"Come to think of it," said the lady, "I'm afraid we wouldn't have the room to spare, and the girls would hardly have time to entertain him. But we'll have him up several times. I like his looks. I wish you had sent me word he was coming; I'd have had a better luncheon."
"Make him a salad," rejoined the doctor, "and get out a bottle of the best claret. Thank God, the Yankees didn't get into my wine cellar! The young man must be treated with genuine Southern hospitality,—even if he were a Mormon and married ten times over."
"Indeed, he would not, Ed,—the idea! I'm ashamed of you. Hurry back to the parlor and talk to him. The girls may want to primp a little before luncheon; we don't have a young man every day."
"Beauty unadorned," replied the doctor, "is adorned the most. My profession qualifies me to speak upon the subject. They are the two handsomest young women in Patesville, and the daughters of the most beautiful"—