wish Mark was a little different; I don't like his careless ways!
He admires me, I can tell one; that by the way he looks, but he
admires himself just as much, and expects me to do the same;
still, I suppose none of them are perfect, and girls have to
forgive lots of little things when they are engaged. Mother must
have forgiven a good many things when she took father. Anyway,
Mark is going away for a month on business, so I shan't have to
make up my mind just yet!" Here sleep descended upon the slightly
puzzled, but on the whole delightfully complacent, little
creature, bringing her most alluring and untrustworthy dreams.

The dear innocent had, indeed, no need of haste! Young Mr.
Marquis de Lafayette Wilson, Mark for short, was not in the least
a gay deceiver
or ruthless breaker of hearts, and, so far as known, no scalps of
village beauties were hung to his belt. He was a likable,
light-weight young chap, as indolent and pleasure-loving as the
strict customs of the community would permit; and a kiss, in his
mind, most certainly never would lead to the altar, else he had
already been many times a bridegroom. Miss Patience Baxter's
maiden meditations and uncertainties and perplexities, therefore,
were decidedly premature. She was a natural-born, unconsciously
artistic, highly expert, and finished coquette. She was all this
at seventeen, and Mark at twenty-four was by no means a match for
her in this field of effort, yet!--but sometimes, in getting her
victim into the net, the coquette loses her balance and falls in
herself. There wasn't a bit of harm in Marquis de Lafayette, but
he was extremely agile in keeping out of nets!

Waitstill was restless, too, that night, although she could not