sed with his remarks. The sight chafed the mind of
Hendrickson, and he said, sarcastically--

"Like all the rest, Mrs. Denison! Gold is the magnet."

"You are in a strange humor to-night, Paul," answered his friend,
"and your humor makes you unjust. It is not fair to judge Miss
Loring in this superficial way. Because she is cheerful and social
in a company like this, are you to draw narrow conclusions touching
her heart-preferences?"

"Why was she not as cheerful and as social with me, as she is now
with that fellow?" said the young man, a measure of indignation in
the tones of his voice. "Answer me that, if you please."

"The true reason is, no doubt, wide of your conclusions," answered
Mrs. Denison. "Genuine love, when it first springs to life in a
maiden's heart, has in it a high degree of reverence. The object
rises into something of superiority, and she draws near to it with
repressed emotions, resting in its shadow, subdued, reserved, almost
shy, but happy. She is not as we saw Miss Loring just now, but more
like the maiden you describe as treating you not long ago with a
strange reserve, which you imagined coldness."

"Woman is an enigma," exclaimed Hendrickson, his thoughts thrown
into confusion.

"And you must study, if you would comprehend her," said Mrs.
Denison. "Of one thing let me again assure you, my young friend, if
you expect to get a wife worth having, you have got to show yourself
in earnest. Other men, not half so worthy as you may be, have eyes
quite as easily attracted by feminine loveliness, and they will
press forward and rob you of the prize unless you put in a claim. A
woman desires to be loved. Love is what her heart feeds upon, and
the man who appears to love her best, even if in all things he is
not her ideal of manhood, will be most apt to win her for his bride.
You can win Miss Loring if you will."

"It may be so," replied the young man, almost gloomily. "But, for
all you say, I must confess myself at fault. I look for a kind of
spontaneity in love. It seems to me, that hearts, created to become
one, should instinctively respond to each other. For this reason,
the idea of wooing, and contending, and all that, is painfully
repugnant."

"It may be," said Mrs. Dunham [Denison?], "that your pride is as much at
fault in the case, as your manhood. You cannot bend to solicit
love."

"I cannot--I will not!" The gesture that accompanied this was as
passionate as the surroundings would