what I was thinking about.

How distinctly I remember our conversation that evening before our
departure for town, when we were sitting together over the fire, my uncle
having gone to bed with a slight attack of the gout.

'Helen,' said she, after a thoughtful silence, 'do you ever think about
marriage?'

'Yes, aunt, often.'

'And do you ever contemplate the possibility of being married yourself,
or engaged, before the season is over?'

'Sometimes; but I don't think it at all likely that I ever shall.'

'Why so?'

'Because, I imagine, there must be only a very, very few men in the world
that I should like to marry; and of those few, it is ten to one I may
never be acquainted with one; or if I should, it is twenty to one he may
not happen to be single, or to take a fancy to me.'

'That is no argument at all. It may be very true--and I hope is true,
that there are very few men whom you would choose to marry, of yourself.
It is not, indeed, to be supposed that you would wish to marry any one
till you were asked: a girl's affections should never be won unsought.
But when they are sought--when the citadel of the heart is fairly
besieged--it is apt to surrender sooner than the owner is aware of, and
often against her better judgment, and in opposition to all her
preconceived ideas of what she could have loved, unless she be extremely
careful and discreet. Now, I want to warn you, Helen, of these things,
and to exhort you to be watchful and circumspect from the very
commencement of your career, and not to suffer your heart to be stolen
from you by the first foolish or unprincipled person that covets the
possession of it.--You know, my dear, you are only just eighteen; there
is plenty of time before you, and neither your uncle nor I are in any
hurry to get you off our hands, and I may venture to say, there will be
no lack of suitors; for you can boast a good family, a pretty
considerable fortune and expectations, and, I may as well tell you
likewise--for, if I don't, others will--that you have a fair share of
beauty besides--and I hope you may never have cause to regret it!'

'I hope not, aunt; but why should you fear it?'

'Because, my dear, beauty is that quality which, next to money, is
generally the most attractive to the worst kinds of men; and, therefore,
it is likely to entail a great deal of trouble on the possessor.'

'Have you been troubled in that way, aunt?'

'No, Helen,' said she, with reproachful