with property, but that neither charms nor wealth would suffice for the descendant from such a line without birth, which must ever be the first consideration. She talked so much about birth that for a moment I half fancied, and with pain—But what an idle fancy to suppose that she could think or care what mine was!
Mr. Woodcourt seemed a little distressed by her prolixity, but he was too considerate to let her see it and contrived delicately to bring the conversation round to making his acknowledgments to my guardian for his hospitality and for the very happy hours—he called them the very happy hours—he had passed with us. The recollection of them, he said, would go with him wherever he went and would be always treasured. And so we gave him our hands, one after another—at least, they did—and I did; and so he put his lips to Ada’s hand—and to mine; and so he went away upon his long, long voyage!
I was very busy indeed all day and wrote directions home to the servants, and wrote notes for my guardian, and dusted his books and papers, and jingled my housekeeping keys a good deal, one way and another. I was still busy between the lights, singing and working by the window, when who should come in but Caddy, whom I had no expectation of seeing!
“Why, Caddy, my dear,” said I, “what beautiful flowers!”
She had such an exquisite little nosegay in her hand.
“Indeed, I think so, Esther,” replied Caddy. “They are the loveliest I ever saw.”
“Prince, my dear?” said I in a whisper.
“No,” answered Caddy, shaking her head and holding them to me to smell. “Not Prince.”
“Well, to be sure, Caddy!” said I. “You must have two lovers!”