"The rich heiress."
"Do you think her handsome?"
"Yes—passable."
"Too short."
"Her figure pretty—but insignificant."
"She is just out."
"So I hear. She will not make any great sensation. Too sentimental and countrified. As Lord Byron says,—'Smells of bread and butter.'"
This last sneering remark, I considered a compliment. My charming Kate, looked as fresh and natural as a new-blown rose with the morning dew still fresh upon its petals. There was nothing studied or affected about her—no appearance of display—no effort to attract admiration; she was an unsophisticated child of nature, and the delightful frankness, with which she received the homage of the male portion of the company, was quite a contrast to the supercilious airs of the fashionable belles.
The opinion of the gentlemen with regard to the fair débutante, was quite the reverse of those given by her own sex.
"What a lovely girl!"