elt. She really was a very pretty young
woman, and she had unexceptionable manners; and having cut himself
adrift from his ties and handsomely released himself from his
obligations, he was not disposed to take much trouble in looking far
afield for a wife when here was one ready-made to his hand. Still,
he was not so rash as to commit himself too soon. Fine play is never
precipitate; and even the most lordly lover, if an English gentleman,
thinks it seemly to pretend to woo the woman whom he means to take,
and who he knows will yield.

And on her side Adelaide was too well-bred for the one part, and too
wise for the other, to clutch prematurely at the prize she had willed
should be hers. Her actions must be like her gestures, graceful,
rhythmic, rather slow than hurried, and bearing the stamp of purpose
and deliberation. When Edgar should make his offer, as she knew he
would, she would ask for time to reflect and make up her mind. This
would be doing the thing properly and with due regard to her own
dignity; for no husband of hers should ever have cause to think that
she held her marriage with him as a thing so undeniably advantageous
there was no doubt of her acceptance from the first. Every woman must
make herself difficult, thought Adelaide, if she wishes to be prized,
even the woman who for seven years has fixed her eyes steadily on one
point, and has determined that she will finally capture a certain man
and land him as her lifelong possession.

Thus the evening passed, with a subtle undercurrent of concealed
resolves flowing beneath its surface admiration that gave it a
peculiar charm to the two people principally concerned--the one
feeling that she had advanced her game by an important move; the
other, that the eternal fitness of things 'was making itself more
and-more evident, and that it was manifest to all his senses
whom Providence had destined for his wife, and for what ultimate
matrimonial end he had been shaped and spared.

A book of photographs was on the table.

"Are you here?" asked Edgar, lowering his bright blue eyes on
Adelaide as she sat on a small chair at Mrs. Harrowby's feet, carrying
daughterly incense to that withered shrine.

"Yes, I think so," she answered.

He turned the pages carefully--passing over his sisters in wide
crinolines and spoon bonnets; his mother, photographed from an old
picture, in a low dress and long dropping bands of hair, like a
mouflon's ears, about her face; Fre