among the excitements of the gayest and giddiest city on the continent.
A phlegmatic uncle had remarked to her, in view of inherited and
developed characteristics, "Lottie, what in ordinary girls is a
soul, in you is a flame of fire."

As she sat at the table, doing ample justice to the substantial
viands, she did appear as warm and glowing as the coals of hard-wood,
which, ripened in the sunshine, lay upon the hearth opposite.

The bon-vivant, Julian De Forrest, found time for many admiring
glances, of which Lottie was as agreeably conscious as of the other
comforts and luxuries of the hour. They were all very much upon
the same level in her estimation.

But De Forrest would ask no better destiny than to bask in the light
and witchery of so glorious a creature. Little did he understand
himself or her, or the life before him. It would have been a woful
match for both. In a certain sense he would be like the ambitious
mouse that espoused the lioness. The polished and selfish idler,
with a career devoted to elegant nothings, would fret and chafe
such a nature as hers into almost frenzy, had she no escape from
him.

There would be fewer unhappy marriages if the young, instead
of following impulses and passing fancies, would ask, How will
our lives accord when our present tendencies and temperaments are
fully developed? It would need no prophetic eye to foresee in many
cases, not supplemental and helpful differences, but only hopeless
discord. Yet it is hard for a romantic youth to realize that the
smiling maiden before him, with a cheek of peach-bloom and eyes