is simply this, ma'am. This handkerchief cost every cent of $100--"

"One hundred and twenty-five," said Julia quickly.

"Bless me," THOUGHT Tom, "what a rich old d--l her father must be. I
will not give her up; and as poetry and sentiment do not seem to be
favorites, here goes for frankness--some women are furious for plain
matter-of-fact fellows, and this must be one of the number. One hundred
and twenty-five dollars is a great deal of money," he added, aloud,
"and the interest, at 7 per cent, will come to $1.75. Including first
cost and washing, the annual expense of this handkerchief may be set
down at $2. But, the thing will not last now five years, if one
includes fashion, wear and tear, &c., and this will bring the whole
expense up to $27 per annum. We will suppose your fortune to be
$50,000, Miss Julia--"

Here Tom paused, and cast a curious glance at the young lady, in the
hope of hearing something explicit. Julia could hardly keep her
countenance, but she was resolved to go to the bottom of all this
plain-dealing.

"Well, sir," she answered, "we will suppose it, as you say, $50,000."

"The interest, then, would be $3,500. Now 27 multiplied by 130--" here
Tom took out his pencil and began to cypher--"make just 3510, or rather
more than the whole amount of the interest. Well, when you come to
deduct taxes, charges, losses and other things, the best invested
estate of $3,500 per annum, will not yield more than $3,000, nett.
Suppose a marriage, and the husband has ONLY $1,000 for his pocket,
this would bring down the ways and means to $2,000 per annum; or less
than a hundredth part of the expense of keeping ONE
pocket-handkerchief; and when you come to include rent, fuel,
marketing, and other necessaries, you see, my dear Miss Monson, there
is a great deal of poetry in paying so much for a pocket-handkerchief."

"I believe I understand you, sir, and shall endeavor to profit by the
lesson. As I am wanted, you will now excuse me, Mr. Thurston--my
father's step is in the hall--" so Julia, in common with all other
Manhattanese, called a passage, or entry, five feet wide--"and to him I
must refer you."

This was said merely as an excuse for quitting the room. But Tom
received it literally and figuratively, at the same time.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Accustomed to think of marrying as his means of advancement, he
somewhat reasonably supposed "refer you to my father" meant consent, so
far as the young lady was con