"I think you would have enjoyed yourself," said Edna, "for I believe they all did. There were quite a number of charming young ladies present. Some of them, I think, you would have been pleased to meet."
"Name them, if you please?"
"Well—Miss Carver, from Boston, for one; pretty, accomplished—"
"And wealthy?"
"Pray, why do you ask such a question?"
"Is not that the supreme attraction?"
"What a sentiment for a poet! Do you know, Mr. Gildersleeve; that I never fail to read your verses in the Sentinel?"
"Do you, really? You are a true friend, indeed, Miss Heath, to sacrifice yourself to that extent. What an exertion it must be!"
"Indeed, I think some of them very nice. Mr. Abbott, who prides himself on his literary taste, endeavored to be very witty criticising some of your poetry, but Aunt Susan—that's Mrs. Applegate—Mercedita, and I defended you with our utmost ability, and we three decided that it was very nice indeed," said Edna earnestly.
Mark thought that "very nice indeed" was not exactly the verdict he craved, nor were Aunt Susan and Mercedita critics whose judgment would likely bias public opinion, and be considered final. Edna's good opinion was certainly worth having, however; and as for the Rev. Mr. Abbott's attempts at facetiousness, they were undoubtedly prompted by jealousy, and to say the least of it, were very unbecoming in one of his profession, and a disgrace to the cloth.