Seventeen, talked of love in a cottage, and disinterested affection.
Eighteen, fancied myself in love with some handsome man who flattered me.
Nineteen, was a little more difficult, in consequence of being noticed.
Twenty, commenced to be fashionable and dashing.
Twenty-one, still more confidence in my own attractions, and expected a brilliant establishment.
Twenty-two, refused a good offer because he was not a man of fashion.
Twenty-three, flirted with every young man I met.
Twenty-four, wondered why not married.
Twenty-five, rather more circumspect in conduct.
Twenty-six, began to think a large fortune not quite so indispensable.