"To save your life," said the other, laughing, "I will say a great deal, although you so often accuse me of taciturnity—but who is HIM?"
"Him! why, Delafield!—Seymour Delafield!—the pattern for all the beaux—the magnet for all the belles—and the delight of all the parents in town!"
"His own, too?" inquired Charlotte, a little archly.
"He has none—they are dead and gone—but their money is left behind, and that brings him fathers and mothers by the dozen!"
"It is fortunate that he can supply their loss in any way," said Charlotte, with emphasis.
"To be sure he can; he can do more than you or I could, my dear; he can pick his parents from the best in the city—and, therefore, he ought to be well provided."
"And could he be better provided, as you call it, in that respect, than ourselves?" asked Miss Henly, a little reproachfully.
"Oh no, surely not; now if he were a woman, how soon would he be married!—why, child, they say he is worth at least three hundred thousand dollars!— he'd be a bride in a month!"
"And miserable, perhaps, in a year," said Charlotte; "it is fortunate for him that he is a man, by your tale, or his wealth might purchase misery for him."
"Oh! no one can be miserable that is well married," cried Maria; "Heigho! the idea of old-maidism is too shocking to think about!"