"Is it very difficult to take hold?" Ralph inquired.
"Not if you put your heart into it."
"Ah, my heart," said Ralph. "If it depends upon my heart———"
"Haven't you got any?"
"I had one a few days ago, but I have lost it since."
"You are not serious," Miss Stackpole remarked; "that's what's the matter with you." But for all this, in a day or two she again permitted him to fix his attention, and on this occasion assigned a different cause to his mysterious perversity. "I know what's the matter with you, Mr. Touchett," she said. "You think you are too good to get married."
"I thought so till I knew you, Miss Stackpole," Ralph answered; "and then I suddenly changed my mind."
"Oh, pshaw!" Henrietta exclaimed impatiently.
"Then it seemed to me," said Ralph, "that I was not good enough."
"It would improve you. Besides, it's your duty."
"Ah," cried the young man, "one has so many duties! Is that a duty too?"
"Of course it is—did you never know that before? It's every one's duty to get married."
Ralph meditated a moment; he was disappointed. There was something in Miss Stackpole he had begun to like; it seemed to him that if she was not a charming woman she was at least a very good fellow. She was wanting in distinction, but, as Isabel had said, she was brave, and there is always something fine about that. He had not supposed her to be capable of vulgar arts; but these last words struck him as a false note. When a marriageable young woman urges matrimony upon an unencumbered young man, the most
