. You need a rich wife, I a rich husband, who can supply
us with the indulgences we demand. To secure these we can well make the
sacrifice of a few romantic fancies."

"I am glad you think so," he replied, yet somewhat absently.

"You must wait awhile for Florence," I continued; "she is four years
old, and twelve years hence you will yet be quite a personable
individual. And Florence will have a fortune worth waiting for, I
assure you. Or perhaps you have somebody more eligible already in view.
Come, William, be frank,--tell me all about it."

"I did not expect this levity, Juanita," he answered, severely. "You
must know that I have never thought of such a thing. And believe me,"
he said, in a tenderer tone, "that, among all the beautiful women I
have seen,--and some have not disdained to show me favor,--none ever
touched my heart for a moment. Had we any reasonable prospect of
happiness, I could never give you up; I love you better a thousand
times than anything in the world."

"Except yourself," I said, mockingly; and I looked at him with a
mischievous smile, while a storm of passion raged in my heart and my
brain seemed on fire. "Be it so! I do not complain of such a splendid
rival. But really, William, I cannot boast of constancy like yours,
even; though I suppose most people would consider that rather a poor,
flawed specimen. It hurt my dignity very much when Uncle Heywood called
our attachment a boy-and-girl affair; but I soon found that he knew
best about it. For a time I kept my love very warm and glowing; but it
was not long ere the distractions you bade me seek in society proved
more potent than I wished. I found there were other things to be
enjoyed than dreams of you, and even--shall I confess it? I can now, I
suppose--other people to be admired as well as you!"

"Indeed!" he said, with ill-concealed annoyance. "You had a great
talent for concealment, then; your letters showed no trace of the
change."

"I know they didn't," I answered, laughing. "I hated very much to admit
even to myself that I had altered; it seemed, you know, so capricious
and childish,--in short, so far from romantic. I kept up the illusion
as long as I could; used to go off alone to read your letters, look at
your picture, and fancy I felt just as at first. Then when I sat down
to write, and remembered how handsome you were, and all that had
happened, the old feelings would come back, and for the time you were
all I cared for. But