Coventry was a man of the world. He began life with a good
estate, and a large fund accumulated during his minority.

He spent all the money in learning the world at home and abroad; and,
when it was all gone, he opened one eye.

But, as a man cannot see very clear with a single orb, he exchanged
rouge-et-noir, etc., for the share-market, and, in other respects, lived
as fast as ever, till he had mortgaged his estate rather heavily. Then
he began to open both eyes.

Next, he fell in love with Grace Carden; and upon that he opened both
eyes very wide, and wished very much he had his time to live over again.

Nevertheless, he was not much to be pitied. He had still an estate
which, with due care, could pay off its incumbrances; and he had
gathered some valuable knowledge. He knew women better than most men,
and he knew whist profoundly. Above all, he had acquired what Voltaire
justly calls "le grand art de plaire;" he had studied this art, as many
women study it, and few men. Why, he even watched the countenance, and
smoothed the rising bristles of those he wished to please, or did not
wish to displease. This was the easier to him that he had no strong
convictions on any great topic. It is your plaguy convictions that make
men stubborn and disagreeable.

A character of this kind is very susceptible, either of good or evil
influences; and his attachment to Grace Carden was turning him the right
way.

Add to this a good figure and a distinguished air, and you have some
superficial idea of the gentleman toward whom Grace Carden found herself
drawn by circumstances, and not unwillingly, though not with that sacred
joy and thrill which marks a genuine passion.

They left George and the trap at the "Colley Dog," and ascended the
mountain. There were no serious difficulties on this side; but still
there were little occasional asperities, that gave the lover an
opportunity to offer his arm; and Mr. Coventry threw a graceful
devotion even into this slight act of homage. He wooed her with perfect
moderation at first; it was not his business to alarm her at starting;
he proceeded gradually; and, by the time they had reached the summit, he
had felt his way, and had every reason to hope she would accept him.

At the summit the remarkable beauty of the view threw her into raptures,
and interrupted the more interesting topic on which he was bent.

But the man of the world showed no impatience (I don't say he felt
none); he