best?" said I, suppressing my third or fourth yawn.
"I detest them all," replied she, shaking her bright ringlets in vivacious scorn.
"That means, I suppose, I like them all—but which most?"
"No, I really do detest them all; but Harry Meltham is the handsomest and most amusing, and Mr. Hatfield the cleverest, Sir Thomas the wickedest, and Mr. Green the most stupid. But the one I'm to have, I suppose, if I'm doomed to have any of them, is Sir Thomas Ashby."
"Surely not, if he's so wicked, and if you dislike him?"
"Oh, I don't mind his being wicked; he's all the better for that; and as for disliking him—I shouldn't greatly object to being Lady Ashby of Ashby Park, if I must marry; but if I could be always young, I would be always single. I should like to enjoy myself thoroughly, and coquet with all the world, till I am on the verge of being called an old maid; and then, to escape the infamy of that, after having made ten thousand conquests, to break all their hearts save one, by marrying some high-born, rich, indulgent husband, whom, on
