w
what you are going to say; or rather, I know what you think, for I don't
think you will say it--that this is very frivolous and loose-minded on
my part. So it is; but I am made like that; I take things as they come,
and somehow there is always some new thing to follow the last. In the
second place, I should never propose to settle. I can't settle, my dear
uncle; I 'm not a settler. I know that is what strangers are supposed
to do here; they always settle. But I have n't--to answer your
question--entertained that idea."

"You intend to return to Europe and resume your irregular manner of
life?" Mr. Wentworth inquired.

"I can't say I intend. But it 's very likely I shall go back to Europe.
After all, I am a European. I feel that, you know. It will depend a good
deal upon my sister. She 's even more of a European than I; here, you
know, she 's a picture out of her setting. And as for 'resuming,' dear
uncle, I really have never given up my irregular manner of life. What,
for me, could be more irregular than this?"

"Than what?" asked Mr. Wentworth, with his pale gravity.

"Well, than everything! Living in the midst of you, this way; this
charming, quiet, serious family life; fraternizing with Charlotte and
Gertrude; calling upon twenty young ladies and going out to walk with
them; sitting with you in the evening on the piazza and listening to the
crickets, and going to bed at ten o'clock."

"Your description is very animated," said Mr. Wentworth; "but I see
nothing improper in what you describe."

"Neither do I, dear uncle. It is extremely delightful; I should n't
like it if it were improper. I assure you I don't like improper things;
though I dare say you think I do," Felix went on, painting away.

"I have never accused you of that."

"Pray don't," said Felix, "because, you see, at bottom I am a terrible
Philistine."

"A Philistine?" repeated Mr. Wentworth.

"I mean, as one may say, a plain, God-fearing man." Mr. Wentworth looked
at him reservedly, like a mystified sage, and Felix continued, "I trust
I shall enjoy a venerable and venerated old age. I mean to live long.
I can hardly call that a plan, perhaps; but it 's a keen desire--a rosy
vision. I shall be a lively, perhaps even a frivolous old man!"

"It is natural," said his uncle, sententiously, "that one should desire
to prolong an agreeable life. We have perhaps a selfish indisposition
to bring our pleasure to a close. But I presume," he added, "that