"Wat Sydney."
"And what sort of a man is he?"
"What sort? why, he's a rich man; owns all sorts of things,—gold mines in California, and copper mines in Lake Superior, and salt works, and railroads. In fact, the thing is to say what he doesn't own. Immense head for business,—regular steel-trap to deal with,—has the snap of a pike."
"Pleasing prospect for a domestic companion," said I.
"Oh, as to that, I believe Wat is good-hearted enough to his own folks. They say he is very devoted to his old mother and a parcel of old maid aunts, and as he's rich, it's thought a great virtue. Nobody sings my praises, I notice, because I mind my mammy and Aunt Sarah. You see it takes a million-power solar microscope to bring out fellows' virtues."
"Is the gentleman handsome?"
"Well, if he was poor, nobody would think much of his looks. If he had, say, a hundred thousand or two, he would be called fair to middling in looks. As it is, the girls rave about him. He's been after Eva now for six months, and the other girls are ready to tear her eyes out. But the engagement hasn't come out yet. I think she's making up her mind to him."
"Not in love, then?"
"Well, she's been queen so long she's blasée and difficult, and likes to play with her fish before she lands him. But of course she must have him. Girls like that must have money to keep 'em up; that's the first requisite. I tell you the purple and fine linen of these princesses come to something. Now, as rich men go, she'd find ten worse than Wat where there's one better. Then she's been out three seasons. There's Alice just come out, and Alice is a stunner, and takes tremendously! And then there's Angeline, a handsome, spicy little witch, smarter than either, that is just fluttering, and scratching, and tearing her hair with impatience to have her turn. And behind Angeline there's Marie—she's got a confounded pair of eyes. So you see there's no help for it; Miss Eva must abdicate and make room for the next comer."
"Well," said I, "about this reception?"