"Oh, half the young ladies in the room, I dare say; excepting, of course, those who have refused you already," said Mrs. de Vaux, mischievously; for it was suspected that Mr. Stryker had met with several rebuffs. This lady and gentleman in spite of their smiling countenances and friendly manners, owed each other a grudge, of old standing. Who does not know that where the spirit of littleness and vanity is all-powerful, these petty trials and triumphs are too often the chief spring of action; as was the case with Mr. Stryker and Mrs. de Vaux. Happy they, who have good principle and good feeling enough, to cast off folly on so small a scale!
"Tell me what is your taste, and I will look out for you," continued Mrs. de Vaux.
"How kind you are!--you don't include Miss de Vaux, of course; for she can't endure me. Like all modest men, I require only nine hundred and ninety-nine perfections in my wife. But then I insist chiefly on two essentials: she must have money, and she must not have brothers and sisters; I have an invincible antipathy to collaterals, whether of blood or connexion."
"Miss Wyllys is the very person for you. Quite a fortune now, they say; and an orphan, without brother or sister; all you require. Then, you like her appearance, you say; though she is plain, she is clever, too, and amiable."
"Of course; all young ladies are amiable, are they not?"
"I only know of one objection--she is too good for you."
"Goodness is not to be despised in a wife. I shall require it from the future Mrs. Stryker; though not very particular about the rest of the world. I am much obliged to you, Mrs. de Vaux, for the suggestion; I'll think of it," said Mr. Stryker, deliberately crossing one leg over the other, to make himself comfortable.
"You, who know everybody, Mr. Stryker," said the lady, "pray, tell me, who is that bright-faced young man, or rather, boy, standing near Mr. Wyllys and Mrs. Stanley?"
"You wish to mortify me--I never saw the lad before."
"I can answer your question, Mrs. de Vaux," observed Harry, who had just approached, and made his bow; "that is my friend, Charlie Hubbard, the artist. Don't you remember the fine view of Lake Ontario, that was so much admired at the Exhibition, this spring?"
"Certainly. Is that the young man?--He looks like a genius."
"Rather as a genius should look; your great lions are often very tame-looking animals," observed Mr. Stryker.
"Hubbard's face only does him justice, however; he is full of talent," said Harry.
"I Some of his pictures are certainly very fine," observed Mrs. de Vaux.
"I never saw water like his," continued Hazlehurst; "such variety, and always true to nature. He almost persuades one to believe all he says about water: he maintains that it has more variety of expression than any other inanimate object, and has, withal, an independent character of its own; he says it is second only to the human countenance."
"He seems quite an enthusiast," said Mrs. de Vaux.
"Won't he take it all out in talk?" asked Mr. Stryker, drily.
"Look at his view of Hell-Gate on a cloudy evening, and say so if you can!" exclaimed Harry, warmly.
{"Hell-Gate" = a narrow channel in New York City's East River}
