"Ah, well, my dear, after a few seasons you get to know all about your good looks; and then, my dear, after a few seasons more you get to know what is of a great deal more consequence, all your defects, or at least a good many. I don't suppose any woman ever found out all the weak points in her appearance, and that's a mercy. But as I was saying—what was I saying?"
"I think," said Maud, with an expression of great innocence, "that you were blaming papa for never having given me an opportunity of finding out the weak points in my personal appearance."
"Yes, that's it. That is, not quite it. Maud, I won't have you twist things I say in that way. You know I am always for your good; indeed I am."
"I am quite sure of it, dear Mrs. Grant," returned the girl gratefully, and with a trace of moisture in her large soft eyes, as though she relented having taken advantage of the other's impetuosity.
The woman took her hand, and stroked it briskly, and said:
"There, there, Maud, don't be silly. Look at this very case in point. Why, you turn sentimental over a few words from an uninteresting middle-aged woman! Now is that a proper thing in an heiress of twenty? Why, my dear, you'd have no account to give of offers refused if once you went out. You'd marry the first booby who asked you, rather than disoblige him or cause him pain."
"I shall never marry anyone I do not love," said Maud, with an air of quiet decision.
"Maud, be silent; you are only a school-girl, with a lot of sound rules in your head, and not the least idea of how they are applied, or where. I tell you I know something of the world and girls and love and marriage. I tell you, you'd marry the first stupid lout who said to you: Maud, I love you!"
"Was the first who proposed to you a stupid lout?" asked the girl simply.
"No, he wasn't; at least I did think he was then, but I afterwards knew that he was the best of them all; and I was often sorry I did not take him."