Year: 1873

81 know | am pretty" said Clara
Wintringham to herself, gazing com
posedly into her mirror, "but / do not
think | am sufficiently SO to send all the
young men Of my acquaintance into
ecstasies over me."


1t is not always easy for a girl to
judge of her own looks; but Clara tried
to be as impartial as possible on this
special occasion. And what was it that
she saw reflected in the glass before
which she stood, critically surveying the
creature whom the world called Clara
Nottingham.


a tall, supple figure, with sloping
shoulders and daintily tapered waist !;
skin as soft as satin, and tinted like
an oleander blossom deep blue eyes,
Just shaded into violet at the iris; and
a little fresh mouth, where the teeth
shone at every smile like pearls through
crimson shell.


Yes" !" said Clara nodding her head
so that certain spirals of golden brown
hair which always hung over her fore
head danced coquettishly up and down.
/ am pretty. Then that five hundred
pounds year that Uncle Bruce's will
secured to me isn't altogether Disagree
able pill for some of my lovers to swal-
low. don't think | was made for an
heiress. like to make and mend. to
patch and contrive, and | have always
had an idea that / would make splen-
did poor mans wife. | mean of course
splendid wife for poor man."


She took from her belt withered
red rose, and bunch of violets as she
spoke, and arched her pretty eyebrows
over them in puzzled fashion.


Harvey Gellette gave me the rose"
she soliloquised. He's very handsome,
is Harvey, and l always did have a
weakness for handsome people; and he
is a rising young man in his profession,
people say. | like talented people, too.
I'll keep the rose just a little while
And she laid it away in a certain satin
lined box where she was wont to treas
ure souvenirs of these. her girlish days.
And Frank Hoods violets-poor Frank
Hood He's so silent and SO awkward,
and yet there's something about him
that won't let one despise him. He GER
tainly is not handsome, though he has
fine eyes, and face like one of those
old marble creations one sees in the
School of Design. Well, won't throw
away the violets, either, not just yet"
/ Clara took the jewelled hair pins out
of her shining tresses, and laid aside
the white tarletan dress and wreathes oi
blue-blossoms, and went composedly to
bed.


For why should she lie awake and
lose the fresh roses of her complexion
and dim the sparkle of those glorious
violet eyes, thinking about the respect.
i've claims of the various lovers, who
hoyered, moth-like, about the torchlight
of her charms? There was time enough
70 make up her mind-quite time enough
Why, she was not yet nineteen, and life
was SO full of bloom and freshness for
her, Clara knew that the autumn must
come sooner or later, but she ment to
have a good time first. Sensible Clara


So, in the very middle of the season
when balls, operas, masquerades, and
deieuns santantes were at their height
and when old Aunt Dalmayne wrote Q
piteous letter up to her brother in town
setting forth that " she had the rheuma
tiz dreadful bad, and there want any
help to be had, and she was SO lonesome
that she couldn't stand it no longer, and
wouldn't one of her three nieces come
down and stay with her for short