“Oh! Well, if he's married, I don't care a straw about him. I fancied I'd found out why you are such a hard-hearted charmer. But if there is no secret idol, I'm all at sea again.” And Charlie tossed the photograph into the drawer as if it no longer interested him.
“I'm hard-hearted because I'm particular and, as yet, do not find anyone at all to my taste.”
“No one?” with a tender glance.
“No one” with a rebellious blush, and the truthful addition “I see much to admire and like in many persons, but none quite strong and good enough to suit me. My heroes are old-fashioned, you know.”
“Prigs, like Guy Carleton, Count Altenberg, and John Halifax I know the pattern you goody girls like,” sneered Charlie, who preferred the Guy Livingston, Beauclerc, and Rochester style.
“Then I'm not a 'goody girl,' for I don't like prigs. I want a gentleman in the best sense of the word, and I can wait, for I've seen one, and know there are more in the world.”
“The deuce you have! Do I know him?” asked Charlie, much alarmed.
“You think you do,” answered Rose with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.
“If it isn't Pem, I give it up. He's the best-bred fellow I know.”
“Oh, dear, no! Far superior to Mr. Pemberton and many years older,” said Rose, with so much respect that Charlie looked perplexed as well as anxious.