man, body and heart and soul, and is strong and
clever enough to take care of you."

The minute she said that, the image of Jim Brett rose up before my
eyes. I think, though he is poor, and perhaps of humble birth, that the
girl he marries will be happy--and well taken care of.

"You'll hear a lot of talk about money at Newport," she went on, "too
much. Among some of the people you'll be with, money's of more
importance than anything else. Two or three rich young men are certain
to ask you to marry them--very nice fellows they may be, and they will
show you heaps of attention--all those that Cousin Katherine will let
come near you--and as you're so young and inexperienced, you may lose
your head a little bit. But do remember that losing your head and being
flattered and amused, isn't falling in love. A man must be able to make
you love him for himself, and that self must be worth loving; for
nothing else is any good in the end. And now I'll tell you my
story--just in a few words--because it will give you something to think
about.

"I'm thirty-two now. When I was nineteen--a year older than you--I
cared for a man, and he for me. We cared for each other--terribly. But
he was poor; and not only that, he came from people whom mine looked
down upon. We loved each other so much, though, that I would have
married him in spite of all; but my relations thought it would ruin my
life, and they advised, and persuaded, and implored and insisted, until
I was weak enough to give the man up. They took me to Europe, and
because I had some money an Italian prince we met in Rome wanted to
marry me. They almost argued me into consenting, and though they didn't
quite, the news went home to Kentucky that I was engaged. The man I
really loved--loved dearly all the time, though I was trying to forget
him--believed it. Why shouldn't he, since I'd given him up for the
reasons I had? He was Catholic, and he went into a monastery we have in
Kentucky, and became a monk. No one ever wrote to me about it. All my
friends thought the less I heard of him the better. And two years
later, when I went back home--_not_ engaged, and thinking in my heart
that there was, and always would be, only one man for me in the
world--it was to learn that that man had taken the final vows which
would separate him from earthly love for ever.

"Oh, Betty, you don't know what I suffered. I'd been saying to myself
that when I saw him again--as I meant to--I would know b