"I am really sorry you are going to be married," she cried. "If I were
you, I would not put on chains before I had tasted the sweets of
liberty. Only think, you have not come out yet, as the protegee of the
rich, the aristocratic Mrs. Linwood. What a sensation you would make in
Boston next winter if you had sense enough to preserve your freedom.
Ernest Linwood knows well enough what he is about, when he hastens the
wedding so vehemently. He knows, if you once go into the world, you will
be surrounded by admirers who may eclipse and supplant him. But I tell
thee one thing, my dear creature, you will have no chance to shine as a
belle, as the wife of Ernest. If he does not prove a second Bluebeard,
my name is not Meg the Dauntless."

"I detest a married belle," I answered with warmth. "The woman who aims
at such a distinction is false, heartless, and unprincipled. I would
bless the watching love that shielded me from a name so odious."

"It is a mighty fine thing to be loved, I suppose," said Meg with a
resounding laugh, "but I know nothing about it and never shall. Mamma
and Mrs. Linwood are great friends, you know, or have been; and mamma
thought it would be wondrous fine for young Miss Hopeful to captivate
Mr. Splendidus. But he did not _take_. I did not suit his delicate
nerves. Well, I wish you joy, my precious soul. He loves you, there is
no doubt of that. He never sees, never looks at any one else. If you
speak, he is all ear; if you move, all eye. I wonder how it will be a
year hence,--ha, ha!"

Her laugh grated on my nerves, but I concealed the irritation it caused,
for it was useless to be angry with Meg. She must have had a heart, for
she was a woman, but the avenue to it was impervious. It was still an
untravelled wilderness, and bold must be the explorer who dared to
penetrate its luxuriant depths.

Circumstances connected with the property bequeathed by his uncle, made
it indispensable that Ernest should be in New York the coming winter;
and he made arrangements to pass our first bridal season in the great
empire city. He wrote to a friend resident there, to engage a house and
have it furnished for our reception.

"For never," said he, "will I carry bride of mine, to make her home in a
fashionable hotel. I would as soon plunge her in the roaring vortex on
Norway's coast."

"And must we be separated from your mother and Edith?" I asked,
trembling at the thought of being removed from Mrs. Linwood's ma