"Does this wish, then, extend to the plural number?" asked Julia, smiling a little maliciously.
"Certainly; when the heart is devoted to virtuous intentions, it wishes for a union with virtue, where-ever it is to be found. Competence and virtue are my mottoes, Miss Julia."
"This shows that you are, in truth, a lover of plain-dealing, Mr. Thurston—and now, as to the handkerchief?"
"Why, Miss Julia, perceiving that you are sincere, I shall be equally frank. You own this handkerchief?"
"Certainly, sir. I should hardly use an article of dress that is the property of another."
"Independent, and the fruit of independence. Well, Miss Monson, it struck me that the mistress of such a handkerchief MUST like poetry—that is, flights of the imagination—that is, eloquence and pathos, as it might be engrafted on passion and sentiment."
"I believe I understand you, sir; you wish to say that common sense seemed misapplied to the owner of such a handkerchief."
"Far from that, adorable young lady; but, that poetry, and eloquence, and flights of imagination, seem well applied. A very simple calculation will demonstrate what I mean. But, possibly, you do not wish to hear the calculation—ladies, generally, dislike figures?"
"I am an exception, Mr. Thurston; I beg you will lay the whole matter before me, therefore, without reserve."
"It is simply this, ma'am. This handkerchief cost every cent of $100—"