"But there must be some favoured man, eh, Cora?"
"No," she said, with a tinge of hauteur over her playfulness, "none."
"Time enough to think of marrying, Cora; why, you are only nineteen, and I hope to dance at your wedding when I return from Turkey."
"Turkey," she repeated, while a cloud came over her pure and happy face; "oh, don't talk of that, Newton; I had forgotten it!"
"Yes; does it seem a long, or a doubtful time to look forward to?"
"It seems both, Newton."
"Well, cousin, with those soft violet eyes of yours, and those black, shining braids (the tempting mistletoe is just over your head), and with loves of bonnets, well-fitting gloves and kid boots, dresses ever new and of every hue, you cannot fail to conquer, whenever you please."
She gave me a full, keen glance, that seemed expressive of annoyance, and said, with a little sigh—
"You don't understand me, Newton. We have been so long separated that I think you have forgotten all the peculiarities of my character now."
"What the deuce can she mean?" thought I.