Miss Danton's brother raised his handsome brown eyes to the exquisite face, and took a long survey.
"She ought to be a beauty if she looks like that. Belle blonde, and I admire blondes so much! do you know, Grace, I think I shall fall in love with her?"
"Don't. It will be of no use."
"Why not? I am a Danton—a gentleman—a member of the learned profession of medicine and not so bad-looking. Why not, Grace?"
He rose up as he said it, his brown eyes smiling. Not so bad-looking, certainly. A fine-looking fellow, as he leaned against the marble mantel, bronzed and bearded, and a thorough gentleman.
"It is all of no use," Grace said, with an answering smile. "Doctor Danton's numberless perfections will be quite lost on the heiress of Danton Hall. She is engaged."
"What a pity! Who is the lucky man?"
"Hon. Lieutenant Reginald Stanford, of Stanford Royals, Northumberland, England, youngest son of Lord Reeves."
"Then mine is indeed a forlorn hope! What chance has an aspiring young doctor against the son of a lord."
"You would have no chance in any case," said Grace, with sudden seriousness. "I once asked her father which his eldest daughter most resembled, Rose or Eeny. 'Like neither,' was his reply. 'My daughter Kate is beautiful, and stately, and proud as a queen.' I shall never forget his own proud smile as he said it."