"That you will, Ishmael! What do you think my papa told my uncle Merlin?—that 'that young man (meaning you) was destined to make his mark on this century.'"
A deep blush of mingled pleasure, bashfulness, and aspiration mantled Ishmael's delicate face. He bowed with sweet, grave courtesy, and changed the subject of conversation by saying:
"I hope Judge Merlin and his daughter are quite well?"
"Quite. They are still at Annapolis. Papa visited them there for a few days last week. The judge is stopping at the Stars and Stripes hotel, and Claudia is a parlor boarder at a celebrated French school in the vicinity. Claudia will not 'come out' until next winter, when her father goes to Washington. For next December Claudia will be eighteen years of age, and will enter upon her mother's large property, according to the terms of the marriage settlement and the mother's will. I suppose she will be the richest heiress in America, for the property is estimated at more than a million! Ah! it is fine to be Claudia Merlin—is it not, Ishmael?"
"Very," answered the young man, scarcely conscious amid the whirl of his emotions what he was saying.
"And what a sensation her entrée into society will make! I should like to be in Washington next winter when she comes out. Ah, but after all—what a target for fortune-hunters she will be, to be sure!" sighed Bee.
"She is beautiful and accomplished, and altogether lovely enough to be sought for herself alone!" exclaimed Ishmael, in the low and faltering tones of deep feeling.
"Ah, yes, if she were poor; but who on earth could see whether the heiress of a million were pretty or plain, good or bad, witty or stupid?"
"So young and so cynical!" said Ishmael sadly.
"Ah, Ishmael, whoever reads and observes must feel and reflect; and whoever feels and reflects must soon lose the simple faith of childhood. We shall see!" said Bee, rising and drawing her gray silk scarf around her shoulders.