siness of life, the getting of money, is practically done;
his enterprise is firmly established, and will continue to grow with ever
less need of husbandry. It is time for him to think about the secondary
business of life, the getting together of a wife and home, for the
Ingerfields have ever been good citizens, worthy heads of families,
openhanded hosts, making a brave show among friends and neighbours.

John Ingerfield, sitting in his stiff, high-backed chair, in his stiffly,
but solidly, furnished dining-room, above his counting-house, sipping
slowly his one glass of port, takes counsel with himself.

What shall she be?

He is rich, and can afford a good article. She must be young and
handsome, fit to grace the fine house he will take for her in fashionable
Bloomsbury, far from the odour and touch of oil and tallow. She must be
well bred, with a gracious, noble manner, that will charm his guests and
reflect honour and credit upon himself; she must, above all, be of good
family, with a genealogical tree sufficiently umbrageous to hide Lavender
Wharf from the eyes of Society.

What else she may or may not be he does not very much care. She will, of
course, be virtuous and moderately pious, as it is fit and proper that
women should be. It will also be well that her disposition be gentle and
yielding, but that is of minor importance, at all events so far as he is
concerned: the Ingerfield husbands are not the class of men upon whom
wives vent their tempers.

Having decided in his mind _what_ she shall be, he proceeds to discuss
with himself _who_ she shall be. His social circle is small.
Methodically, in thought, he makes the entire round of it, mentally
scrutinising every maiden that he knows. Some are charming, some are
fair, some are rich; but no one of them approaches near to his carefully
considered ideal.

He keeps the subject in his mind, and muses on it in the intervals of
business. At odd moments he jots down names as they occur to him upon a
slip of paper, which he pins for the purpose on the inside of the cover
of his desk. He arranges them alphabetically, and when it is as complete
as his memory can make it, he goes critically down the list, making a few
notes against each. As a result, it becomes clear to him that he must
seek among strangers for his wife.

He has a friend, or rather an acquaintance, an old school-fellow, who has
developed into one of those curious social flies that in all a