"I don't know whom to guess, Laura; who ever marries after other people's fancy? If I were to guess Sally Hetheridge, I might come as near as I shall to the truth."
Laura laughed.
"You know better," said she. "Frank Addison is the last man to marry a dried-up old tailoress."
"I don't know that he is; according to his theories of women and marriage, Sally would make him happy. She is true-hearted, I am sure,—generous, kind, affectionate, sensible, and poor. Frank has always raved about the beauty of the soul, and the degradation of marrying money,—therefore, Laura, I believe he is going to marry a beauty and an heiress. I guess Josephine Bowen."
"Susan!" exclaimed Laura, with a look of intense astonishment, "how could you guess it?"
"Then it is she?"
"Yes, it is,—and I am so sorry! such a childish, giggling, silly little creature! I can't think how Frank could fancy her; she is just like Dora in "David Copperfield,"—a perfect gosling! I am as vexed"——
"But she is exquisitely pretty."
"Pretty! well, that is all; he might as well have bought a nice picture, or a dolly! I am out of all patience with Frank. I haven't the heart to congratulate him."
"Don't be unreasonable, Laura; when you get as old as I am, you will discover how much better and greater facts are than theories. It's all very well for men to say,—