"Well, the old maids are the worst. I don't see why it 's low to talk about marriage. It 's thought very respectable to marry. You have only to look round you."
"I don't want to look round me; it 's not always so beautiful, what you see," Eunice said, with a small laugh and a good deal of perversity, for a young woman so reasonable.
"I guess you read too much," said Mrs. Ermine, getting up and setting her bonnet-ribbons at the mirror.
"I should think he would hate them!" Eunice exclaimed, striking her chords.
"Hate who?" her cousin asked.
"Oh, all the silly girls."
"Who is 'he,' pray?" This ingenious inquiry was mine.
"Oh, the Grand Turk!" said Eunice, with her voice covered by the sound of her piano. Her piano is a great resource.
May 12. This afternoon, while we were having our tea, the Grand Turk was ushered in, carrying the most wonderful bouquet of Boston roses that seraglio ever produced. (That image, by the way, is rather mixed; but as I write for myself alone, it may stand.) At the end of ten minutes he asked Eunice if he might see her alone—"on a little matter of business." I instantly rose to leave them, but Eunice said that she would rather talk with him in the library; so she led him off to that apartment. I remained in the
