by such creatures. "Before any d----d foreign reprobate should
have a dollar of his money he would endow a lunatic asylum with it." So
Mrs. Yorke prudently refrained from pressing this subject any further at
this time, and built her hopes on securing the next most advantageous
alliance--a wealthy one. She preferred Norman Wentworth to any of the
other young men, for he was not only rich, but the Wentworths were an
old and established house, and Mrs. Wentworth was one of the old
aristocrats of the State, whose word was law above that of even the
wealthiest of the new leaders. To secure Norman Wentworth would be
"almost as good as a title." An intimacy was sedulously cultivated with
"dear Mrs. Wentworth," and Norman, the "dear boy," was often brought to
the house.

Perversely, he and Alice did not take to each other in the way Mrs.
Yorke had hoped. They simply became the best of friends, and Mrs. Yorke
had the mortification of seeing a tall and statuesque schoolmate of
Alice's capture Norman, while Alice appeared totally indifferent to him.
What made it harder to bear was that Mrs. Caldwell, Louise Caldwell's
mother, a widow with barely enough to live respectably on, was quietly
walking off with the prize which Mrs. Yorke and a number of other
mothers were striving to secure, and made no more of it than if it had
been her right. It all came of her family connections. That was the way
with those old families. They were so selfishly exclusive and so proud.
They held themselves superior to every one else and appeared to despise
wealth. Mrs. Yorke did not believe Mrs. Caldwell really did despise
wealth, but she admitted that she made a very good show of doing it.

Mrs. Yorke, foreseeing her failure with Norman Wentworth, was fain to
accept in his place Ferdy Wickersham, who, though certainly not Norman's
equal in some respects, was his superior in others.

To be sure, Ferdy was said to be a somewhat reckless young fellow, and
Mr. Yorke did not fancy him; but Mrs. Yorke argued, "Boys will be boys,
and you know, Mr. Yorke, you have told me you were none too good
yourself." On this, Dennis Yorke growled that a man was "a fool ever to
tell his wife anything of the kind, and that, at least, he never was in
that young Wickersham's class."

All of which Mrs. Yorke put aside, and sacrificed herself unstintedly to
achieve success for her daughter and compel her to forget the little
episode of the young Southern schoolmaster, with