she had never felt so genial
a glow of sparkling life in her veins. She was good-natured enough to
laugh at any thing, and brilliant enough to make anybody else laugh; and
the evening passed away most pleasantly.

But Cornelia was no fool, to be made a butt of; and her personality was
too vigorous, her individuality too strong, not to make an impression
and way of its own wherever she was. The young ladies tried in vain to
patronize her: they had not the requisite capital in themselves; and the
young gentlemen soon gave up the attempt to make fun of her; her
vitality was too much for them, and they were, moreover, disconcerted by
her beauty. Miss Valeyon, however, was new to the world, and her
curiosity and vanity had large, unsatisfied appetites. To have been
patronized and made fun of would have done her little or no harm; but in
gratifying these appetites she might do a good deal of harm to herself.

When the young gentlemen were in town, or in the smoking-room, the young
ladies were of course thrown upon their own resources, and generally
drifted together in little groups, to talk in low tones or in loud, to
laugh or to whisper. Cornelia, who soon got upon terms of companionship
with one or two members of these conclaves, could hardly do otherwise
than occasionally join the meetings. At first she found little or
nothing of interest to herself in what they talked about.

The discussion of dress, to be sure, was something, and she found she
had much to learn even there. Then there was a great deal to be said
about sociables, and theatres, and sets, and fellows; and there was also
more or less conversation, carried on in a low tone that occasionally
descended to a whisper, which, beyond that it seemed to have reference
to marriage and kindred matters, was for the most part Greek to
Cornelia. A kind of metaphor was used which the country-bred minister's
daughter could not elucidate, nor could she comprehend how young ladies,
unmarried as she herself was, could know so much about things which
marriage alone is supposed to reveal.

Once or twice she had requested an explanation of some of these obscure
points, but her request had been met, first by a dead silence, then by a
laugh, and an inquiry whether she had no young married friends, and also
whether she had ever read the works of Paul Feval, Dumas, and
Balzac--all of which gave her little enlightenment, but taught her to
keep her mouth shut, and open her eyes and