“That surely makes his eagerness less delightful,” replied Ursula, dryly.
“Oh, but I gave him a very accurate description, tall, luminous eyes, dark locks, ivory skin. I told him I was of distinctly prepossessing appearance. Yes, in spite of your opinion, I ventured to tell him that. Uncle informs me so frequently that I am very good-looking, and aunt repeats so consistently that I am exceedingly plain, I feel I have a double right to be satisfied with my beauty. Besides, every woman’s glass declares to her that her appearance is prepossessing; it is the one reason why I fancy, on the whole, women’s lives must be happier than men’s.”
“Did you put all that in the advertisement?” asked Ursula, still staring stupidly at the scrap of paper on the bed.
“I—I wrote him a letter, just one.”
“Addressed to ‘Romeo’?”
“To ‘Romeo de Lieven.’[D] Isn’t it a charming name?”
“It’s an assumed name. Imagine a Dutchman called Romeo!”
“Of course, it’s a pseudonym, like Carmen Sylva. I wasn’t clever enough to think of one; besides, I hate subterfuges. So I just put my own name, H. V.—Harriet Verveen.”
“Harriet, you don’t mean to say that you wrote a signed love-letter you don’t in the least know to whom?”