“Who’s that girl to whom Mr. Stirling is talking?” asked Leonore of her partner.
“Ah, that’s the rich Miss Biddle, of Philadelphia,” replied the scoundrel, in very gentleman-like accents for one of his class. “They say she’s never been able to find a man good enough for her, and so she’s keeping herself on ice till she dies, in hopes that she’ll find one in heaven. She’s a great catch.”
“She’s decidedly good-looking,” said Leonore.
“Think so? Some people do. I don’t. I don’t like blondes.”
When Leonore had progressed as far as her fourth partner, she asked: “What sort of a girl is that Miss Biddle?”
“She’s really stunning,” she was told. “Fellows are all wild about her. But she has an awfully snubbing way.”
“Is she clever?”
“Is she? That’s the trouble. She won’t have anything to do with a man unless he’s clever. Look at her to-night! She got her big fish right off, and she’s driven away every man who’s come near her ever since. She’s the kind of a girl that, if she decides on anything, she does it.”
“Who’s her big fish?” said Leonore, as if she had not noticed.
“That big fellow, who is so awfully exclusive—Stirling. He doesn’t think any people good enough for him but the Pells, and Miss De Voe, and the Ogdens. What they can see in him I can’t imagine. I sat opposite him once at dinner, this spring, at the William Pells, and he only said three things in the whole meal. And he was sitting next that clever Miss Winthrop.”