“Mr. Dexter.”
“Leon?”
“Yes.”
The eyes of Jessie drooped as those of her aunt were directed in close scrutiny to her face.
“He’s a catch. Set your cap for him, Jessie, and you may ride in your own carriage.” There was a vulgar leer in Mrs. Loring’s eye. The color rose to Jessie’s face, but she did not answer.
“Did he show you any attentions?” inquired the aunt.
“Yes. He was quite as attentive as I could desire.”
“Indeed! And what does ‘as you could desire,’ mean?”
Jessie turned her face partly away to hide its crimson.
“Ah, well; I see how it is, dear. You needn’t blush so. I only hope you may get him. He was attentive, then, was he?”
“I have no reason to complain of his lack of attentions,” said Jessie, her voice cold and firm. “They would have been flattering to most girls. But, I do not always give to compliments and ‘company manners,’ the serious meanings that some attach to them.”
“Jessie,” Mrs. Loring spoke with sudden seriousness; “take my advice, and encourage Leon Dexter. I am pleased to know that you were so much an object of his attentions as your remarks lead me to infer. I know that you will make him a good wife; one of whom he can never be ashamed; and I know that a union with him will give you a proud position.”
“Will you waive the subject, at present, dear aunt?” said Jessie, with a pleading look, at the same time glancing covertly towards her cousins, who were drinking in every word with girlish eagerness.
“Oh, by all means,” answered Mrs. Loring, “if it is in the least annoying. I was forgetting myself in the interest felt for your welfare.”
“And so Mr. Dexter showed you marked attentions last evening?” said Jessie’s aunt, joining her in the sitting- room, after Amanda and Dora had left for school.
“Did I say so, aunt?” inquired Jessie, looking into her relative’s face.
“You said enough to make the inference clear, my child.”
“Well, Aunt Phoebe, he was attentive—more so, by a great deal, than I desired!”
“Than you desired!” There was unfeigned surprise in the voice of Mrs. Loring. “What do you mean, Jessie?”
“The man’s position is all well enough; but the man himself is not altogether to my liking.”
“You must have grown remarkably fastidious all at once. Why, girl! there isn’t a handsomer man to be found anywhere. He is a noble looking fellow! Where are your eyes?”
“The man that a wife has to deal with, is the man of the spirit, Aunt Phoebe—the real man. The handsome outside is nothing, if the inner man is not beautiful!” Jessie spoke with a sudden glow of feeling.
“Stuff and nonsense, child!” said Mrs. Loring, impatiently. “Stuff and nonsense!” she repeated, seeing that her niece looked steadily into her face. “What do you know of the man of the spirit, as you call it? And, moreover, what possesses you to infer that Mr. Dexter’s inner man is not as beautiful as the outer?”
“The soul looks forth from the eyes, and manifests its quality in the tones of the voice,” replied Jessie, a fine enthusiasm illuminating her beautiful face. “No man can hide from us his real character, unless we let self-love and self-interest draw an obscuring veil.”
“You are a strange girl, Jessie—a very strange girl!” Mrs. Loring was fretted. “What can you mean? Here, a splendid fortune promises to be poured into your lap, and you draw your garments aside, hesitating and questioning as to whether the golden treasure is worth receiving! I am half amazed at your conduct!”
“Are you weary of my presence here, Aunt Phoebe?” said Jessie, a tremor in her low failing tones.
“Now give me patience with the foolish girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Loring, assuming an angry aspect. “What has come over you, Jessie? Did I say anything about being wearied with your presence? Because I manifest an unusual degree of interest in your future welfare, am I to be charged with a mean, selfish motive? I did not expect this of you.”
“Dear aunt! forgive me!” said Jessie, giving way to tears. “My feelings are unusually disturbed this morning. Late hours and the excitement of company have made me nervous. As for Mr. Dexter, let us pass him by for the present. He has not impressed me as favorably as you seem to desire.”
“But Jessie.”
“Spare me, dear aunt! If you press the subject on me now, you will only excite disgust where you hope to create a favorable impression. I have had many opportunities of close observation, and failed not to improve them. The result is—”
Jessie paused.
“What?” queried her aunt.
“That the more narrowly I scan him the less I like him. He is superficial, vain and selfish.”
“How do you know?”
“I cannot make manifest to your eyes the signs that were clear to mine. But so I have read him.”
“And read him with the page upside down, my, word for it, Miss Jessie Loring!”
Jessie answered only with a sigh, and when her aunt still pressed her on the subject, she begged to be spared,
