father's in the country—one she would rejoice to have received a few days before, but which, in consequence of hopes created by the following occurrence, she haughtily rejected.
It was at the lodgings of the baronet that Lady Laura exclaimed one day,—
"Marriage is a lottery, certainly, and neither Sir Henry nor Lady Egerton appears to have drawn a prize."
Here Jane stole from the room.
"Never, sister," cried the marquis. "I will deny that. Any man can select a prize from your sex, if he only knows his own taste."
"Taste is a poor criterion, I am afraid," said Mrs. Wilson gravely, "on which to found matrimonial felicity."
"To what would you refer the decision, my dear madam?" inquired the lady Laura.
"Judgment."
Lady Laura shook her head doubtingly.
"You remind me so much of Lord Pendennyss! Everything he wishes to bring under the subjection of judgment and principles."
"And is he wrong, Lady Laura?" asked Mrs. Wilson, pleased to find such correct views existed in one of whom she thought so highly.
"Not wrong, my dear madam, only impracticable. What do you think, marquis, of choosing a wife in conformity to your principles, and without consulting your tastes?"
Mrs. Wilson shook her head with a laugh, and disclaimed any such statement of the case; but the marquis, who disliked one of John's didactic conversations very much, gayly interrupted her by saying—
"Oh! taste is everything with me. The woman of my heart against the world, if she suits my fancy, and satisfies my judgment."
"And what may this fancy of your lordship be?" said Mrs. Wilson, willing to gratify the trifling. "What kind of a woman do you mean to choose? How tall, for instance?"
"Why, madam," cried the marquis, rather unprepared
