"I have not forgotten them," said Alice, a little impressed by her mother's argument.
"Of course, you have not. I don't think it's right, Alice, for you to be so--susceptible and shallow. At least once every three months I have to go through this same thing. There's Ferdy Wickersham--handsome, elegant manners, very ri--with fine prospects every way, devoted to you for ever so long. I don't care for his mother, but his people are now received everywhere. Why--?"
"Mamma, I would not marry Ferdy Wickersham if he were the last man in--to save his life--not for ten millions of dollars. And he does not care for me."
"Why, he is perfectly devoted to you," insisted Mrs. Yorke.
"Ferdy Wickersham is not perfectly devoted to any one except himself--and never will be," asserted Alice, vehemently. "If he ever cared for any one it is Louise Caldwell."
Mrs. Yorke shifted her ground.
"There's Norman Wentworth? One of the best--"
"Ah! I don't love Norman. I never could. We are the best of friends, but I just like and respect him."
"Respect is a very safe ground to marry on," said Mrs. Yorke, decisively. "Some people do not have even that when they marry."
"Then I am sorry for them," said Miss Alice. "But when I marry, I want to love. I think it would be a crime to marry a man you did not love. God made us with a capacity to form ideals, and if we deliberately fall below them--"