ace, as you describe it, is an index of her character, I should draw
from that exactly the opposite inference. I believe that the women who
make mischief in the way you mention are your unsensuous and passionless
ones--that the perfect flirt, single or married, must be a perfectly
cold woman, because it is only one of such a temperament who can thus
trifle with others without danger to herself. I speak hesitatingly, for
all women are a mystery, and my experience is as yet very limited; but
such opportunities of observation as have fallen to my lot confirm me in
the theory."

Somewhat to Ashburner's surprise his friend made no attempt to
controvert his argument. He only turned it aside, saying,----

"Well, I don't like her, at any rate. If I had no other reason, the way
she talks of her husband would be enough to make me."

"Oh, there _is_ a Mr. Harrison, then? One hears so little of him----"

"And sees so nothing of him, you may say."

"Exactly--that I took him for a mythological personage--a cousin of our
Mrs. Harris."

"Nevertheless I assure you Mr. Harrison exists very decidedly--a
Wall-street speculator, and well known as such by business people, a
capital man behind a trotter, an excellent judge of wine. Probably he
will come here from the city once or twice before we leave, and I shall
find an opportunity to introduce you to him, for he is really worth
knowing and considerable of a man, as we say--no fool at all, except in
the way he lets his wife bully him."

"If he made an unsuitable match that does not show his wisdom
conspicuously."

"It was an unsuitable match enough, Heaven knows! But when he proposed
he was in the state of mind in which sensible people do the most foolish
things. He was a great man in stocks--controlled the market at one
time--had been buying largely just before the election of '44, when we
all expected Henry Clay would get in with plenty to spare. When Polk was
elected, great was the terror of all respectable citizens. My brother
caught such a fright then that I don't think he has fairly recovered
from it to this day. How the stocks did tumble down! Harrison had about
nine millions on his hands; he couldn't keep such a fund, and was forced
to sell at any price, and lost just one third. Just as he was beginning
to pick himself up after the shock and wonder, like the sailor whom the
conjurer blew up, what was to come next? Mr. Whitey of the _Jacobin_,
now the honorable Pompey Whitey