"Miss Precision is weighing him in the balance," said
Jean, laughing, as she poured out more black coffee.
"With all of her soft ways Lucy is shrewd. She knows
quite well why he races across the Atlantic, and why
Prince Wolfburgh has backed away from us and charged on
us again all summer. She is cool. She is measuring poor
Perry's qualifications for a husband now just as she
would materials for a cake. A neat little inventory. So
much energy, so much honest kindness--so much vulgarity.
I couldn't do that. If ever a man wants to marry me,
I'll fly to him or away from him, as quick as the steel
needle does when the magnet touches it."
Miss Vance listened to her attentively. "Jean," she
said, after a pause, "are you sure that it is Lucy whom
the prince wishes to marry?"

"It is not I," said Miss Hassard promptly. "He has
thought of me several times--he has weighed my
qualifications. But the man is in love with Lucy as
honestly as a ploughman could be. Don't you think I've
tough luck?" she said, resting her elbow on the table and
her chin on her palm, her keen gray eyes following Miss
Dunbar and her lover as they loitered under the shadow of
the church. "I am as young as Lucy. I have a better
brain and as big a dot. But her lovers make her
life a burden, and I never have had one. Just because
our noses and chins are made up differently!"

"Oh, my dear!" said Clara anxiously. "I never thought
you cared for that kind of success!"