out on divers occasions, for the
amusement of himself and the Duke--who enjoyed, without practising, that
species of joke.

The collisions between ill-concealed art and as ill-concealed irony had
been practised with impunity by the Marquess for a fortnight, and the
lady's imagination began to revel in the delights of a triumph, when a
really respectable offer was made to Miss Harris by a neighbor of her
father's in the country--one she would rejoice to have received a few days
before, but which, in consequence of hopes created by the following
occurrence, she haughtily rejected.

It was at the lodgings of the Baronet that Lady Laura exclaimed one day,--

"Marriage is a lottery, certainly, and neither Sir Henry nor Lady Egerton
appears to have drawn a prize."

Here Jane stole from the room.

"Never, sister," cried the Marquess. "I will deny that. Any man can select
a prize from your sex, if he only knows his own taste."

"Taste is a poor criterion, I am afraid," said Mrs. Wilson, gravely, "on
which to found matrimonial felicity."

"To what would you refer the decision, my dear madam?" inquired the Lady
Laura.

"Judgment."

Lady Laura shook her hear doubtingly.

"You remind me so much of Lord Pendennyss! Everything he wishes to bring
under the subjection of judgment and principles."

"And is he wrong, Lady Laura?" asked Mrs. Wilson, pleased to find such
correct views existed in one of whom she thought so highly.

"Not wrong, my dear madam, only impracticable. What do you think,
Marquess, of choosing a wife in conformity to your principles, and without
consulting your tastes?"

Mrs. Wilson shook her head with a laugh, and disclaimed any such statement
of the case; but the Marquess, who disliked one of John's didactic
conversations very much, gaily interrupted her by saying--

"Oh! taste is everything with me. The woman of my heart against the world,
if she suits my fancy, and satisfies my judgment."

"And what may this fancy of your Lordship be?" said Mrs. Wilson, willing
to gratify the trifling. "What kind of a woman do you mean to choose? How
tall for instance?"

"Why, madam," cried the Marquess, rather unprepared for such a catechism,
and looking around him until the outstretched neck and the eager attention
of Caroline Harris caught his eye, when he added with an air of great
simplicity--"about the height of Miss Harris."

"How old?" asked Mrs. Wilson with a smile.

"Not too young, ma'am, certai