"No, on my soul they are not," replied Fitzsimmons, earnestly. "Were our situations reversed, I would, without a moment's hesitation, lay all that I possessed at her feet, and think myself the most honoured, the most fortunate of men if I could obtain a gem whose intrinsic value requires not the aid of a gold setting."
"Do you suppose, then," said Colonel Kingswood, "that a lovely and elegant woman like Miss Lucinda Mandeville can have so humble an opinion of herself as to suppose that she owes all her admirers to her wealth, and that there is nothing attractive about her but her bank-stock and her houses?"
"Since I first knew Miss Mandeville," replied Fitzsimmons, "I have secretly cherished the hope of being one day worthy of her acceptance. And this hope has incited me to be doubly assiduous in my profession, with the view of ultimately acquiring both wealth and distinction. And when I have made a name, as well as a fortune, I shall have no scruples in offering myself to her acceptance."
"And before all this is accomplished," observed the colonel, "some lucky fellow, with a ready-made fortune, and a ready-made name, or, more probably, some bold adventurer with neither, may fearlessly step in and carry off the prize."
"There is madness in the thought!" exclaimed Fitzsimmons, putting his hand to his forehead.
"Did it never strike you before?" inquired the colonel.
"It has, it has," cried Fitzsimmons; "a thousand times has it passed like a dark cloud over the sunshine of my hopes."
"Take my advice," said the colonel, "and address Miss Mandeville at once."
"Fool that I was!" exclaimed Fitzsimmons, "how could I be so utterly absurd—so devoid of all tact, as to reply to her unguarded badinage in a tone of reality! No wonder she looked so disconcerted, so shocked. At this moment, how she must hate me!"
"I am not so sure of that," observed the colonel; "but take my advice, and let the etourderie of this evening be repaired by the opening it affords you of disclosing your real feelings to the object of your love."