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“You don’t pretend to say that my character was not formed at sixteen?” This was accompanied by a threatening look.

Whatever his thoughts were, Mr. Wyman took good care not to express them. He merely said–

“I believe, Margaret, that I haven’t volunteered any allusion to you.”

“Yes, but you don’t approve of early marriages.”

“True.”

“Well, didn’t I marry at sixteen? And isn’t your opinion a reflection upon your wife?”

“Circumstances alter cases,” smilingly returned Mr. Wyman. “Few women at sixteen were like you. Very certainly your daughter is not.”

“There I differ with you, Mr. Wyman. I believe our Anna would make as good a wife now as I did at sixteen. She is as much of a woman in appearance; her mind is more matured, and her education advanced far beyond what mine was. She deserves a good husband, and must have one before the lapse of another year.”

“How can you talk so, Margaret? For my part, I do not wish to see her married for at least five years.”

“Preposterous! I wouldn’t give a cent for a marriage that takes place after seventeen or eighteen. They are always indifferent affairs, and rarely ever turn out well. The earlier the better, depend upon it. First love and first lover, is my motto.”

“Well, Margaret, I suppose you will have these matters your own way; but I don’t agree with you for all.”

“Anna must have a party.”

“You can do as you like.”

“But you must assent to it.”

“How can I do that, if I don’t approve?”

“But you must approve.”

And Mrs. Wyman persevered until she made him approve–at least do so apparently. And so a party was given to Anna, at which she was introduced to several dashing young men, whose attentions almost turned her young head. In two weeks she had a confidante, a young lady named Clara Spenser, not much older than herself. The progress already made by Anna in love matters will appear in the following conversation held in secret with Clara.

“Did you say Mr. Carpenter had been to see you since the party?” asked Clara.

“Yes, indeed,” was the animated reply.

“He’s a love of a man!–the very one of all others that I would set my cap for, if there was any hope. But you will, no doubt, carry him off.”

Anna coloured to the temples, half with confusion and half with delight.

“He used to pay attention to Jane Sherman, I’m told.”

“Yes; but you’ve cut her out entirely. Didn’t you notice how unhappy she seemed at the party whenever he was with you?”

“No; was she?”

“Oh, yes; everybody noticed it. But you can carry off all of her beaux; she’s a mere drab of a girl. And, besides, she’s getting on the old maids’ list; I’m told she’s more than twenty.”

“She is?”

“It’s true.”

“Oh, dear; there’s no fear of her then. If I were to go over sixteen before I married, I should be frightened to death.”

“Suppose Carpenter offers himself?”

“I hope he won’t just yet.”

“Why?”

“I want two or three strings to my bow. It would be dangerous to reject one unless I had another in my eye.”

“Reject? Nonsense! Why should you reject an offer?”

“My mother had three offers before she was sixteen, and rejected two of them.”

“Was she married so early?”

“Oh, yes; she was a wife at sixteen, and I’m not going to be a day later, if possible. I’d like to decline three offers and get married into the bargain before a year passes. Wouldn’t that be admirable? It would be something to boast of all my life.”

Pretty well advanced!–the reader no doubt exclaims; and so our young lady certainly was. When a very young girl gets into love matters, she “does them up,” as the saying is, quite fast; she doesn’t mince matters at all. A maiden of twenty is cooler, more thoughtful, and more cautious. She thinks a good deal, and is very careful how she lets any one–even her confidante, if she should happen to have one, (which is doubtful)–know much beyond her mere external thoughts. Four or five years make a good deal of difference in these things. But this need hardly have been said.