"Which brother?" inquired the Doctor; and Carry blushed.
"I have met but one," said Ida. "I consider Mr. John Dana very fine-looking."
"I will repeat Charley's ideas of what he styles, his 'personal pulchritude,'" responded Carry. "He says he thanks Heaven he is not handsome. To endow him with a moderate share of beauty, some one would have been deprived of his, or her good looks. No broken hearts are laid at the door of his conscience." 'Yes'—concluded he, triumphantly—'A man ought to be grateful for ugliness; and I am persuaded that not many have as much cause to rejoice on that score as myself!'"
"He is not homely," said her father, warmly.
"Ah father! other people tell a different story."
"That may be; but where you find one handsomer face than his, you see a thousand destitute of its intelligence and agreeableness."
"Granted. Homely or not, I prefer him to any doll-faced dandy of my acquaintance."
"He is fortunate in his advocates," said Ida. "He has the art of making friends."
"Because he is such a firm friend himself," replied Carry. "Yet some will have it that he is frivolous and unfeeling. The only satirical remark I was ever guilty of, was extorted by an aspersion of this kind. A lady was offended by a playful bagatelle of his; and thinking that I would be a sure medium of communicating her wrath to its object, criticised him unsparingly. She ridiculed his person and manners;—I said nothing. She said he was bankrupt in chivalry and politeness. I smiled; and she blazed out a philippic against his 'disgusting levity and nonsense—he had not a spark of feeling, or grain of sense—intelligent indeed! for her part she had never heard him say a smart or sensible thing yet.'—I put in my oar here—'You will then allow him one talent, at least; the ability to adapt his conversation to the company he is in.' I repented having said it; but it quieted her."
"You did not reproach yourself for taking the part of your friend!"