Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Reynolds,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Paddy’s Pub is let at last?”

Frank Reynolds replied that he had not.

“But it is,” returned she; “for Mr. McPoyle has just been here, and he told me all about it.”

Mr. Reynolds made no answer.

“Do you not want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife impatiently.

“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”

This was invitation enough.

“Why, my dear, you must know, McPoyle says that Paddy’s is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of Pennsylvania; that he came down on Monday in a sedan to see the place, and was so much delighted with it, that he agreed with the landlord immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his housekeepers are to be in the house by the end of next week.”

“What is his name?”

“Charles Kelly.”

“Is he married or single?”

“Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for Deandra!”

“How so? How can it affect her?”

“My dear Mr. Reynolds,” replied his wife, “how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying her.”

“Is that his design in settling here?”

“Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he may fall in love with Deandra, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes.”

“I see no occasion for that. You and Deandra may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Kelly may like you the best of the party.”

“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has two grown-up children, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.”

“In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.”

“But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Kelly when he comes into the neighbourhood.”

“It is more than I engage for, I assure you.”

“But consider your daughter. Only think what an establishment it would be for her. Sir Mathis is determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you know, he visits no newcomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him if you do not.”

“You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Kelly will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the children; though I must throw in a good word for my little Denny.”

“I desire you will do no such thing. Denny is not a bit better than Deandra; and I am sure he is not half so handsome as her, nor half so good-humoured. But you are always giving him the preference.”

“Deandra has none much to recommend her,” replied he; “she is silly and ignorant like other girls; but Denny has something more of quickness than his sister.”

“Mr. Reynolds, how can you abuse your own daughter in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves.”

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these last twenty years at least.”

“Ah, you do not know what I suffer.”

“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.”

“It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them.”

“Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all.”

Mr. Reynolds was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughter married; its solace was visiting and news.

Chapter 2

Mr. Reynolds was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Kelly. He had always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his wife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was paid she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following manner. Observing his son employed in trimming a hat, he suddenly addressed him with:

“I hope Mr. Kelly will like it, Denny.”

“We are not in a way to know what Mr. Kelly likes,” said his mother resentfully, “since we are not to visit.”

“But you forget, mamma,” said Dennis, “that we shall meet him at the assemblies, and that McPoyle promised to introduce him.”

“I do not believe McPoyle will do any such thing. He has twin sons of his own. He is a selfish, hypocritical man, and I have no opinion of him.”

“No more have I,” said Mr. Reynolds; “and I am glad to find that you do not depend on him serving you.”

Mrs. Reynolds deigned not to make any reply, but, unable to contain herself, began scolding her daughter.

“Don’t keep coughing so, Deandra, for Heaven’s sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”

“Deandra has no discretion in her coughs,” said her father; “she times them ill.”

“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied Deandra fretfully. “When is your next ball to be, Denny?”

“To-morrow fortnight.”

“Aye, so it is,” cried his mother, “and Mrs. Dubois does not come back till the day before; so it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for she will not know him herself.”

“Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce Mr. Kelly to her.”

“Impossible, Mr. Reynolds, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him myself; how can you be so teasing?”

“I honour your circumspection. A fortnight’s acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight. But if we do not venture somebody else will; and after all, Mr. McPoyle and his daughters must stand their chance; and, therefore, as he will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will take it on myself.”

Deandra and Dennis stared at their father. Mrs. Reynolds said only, “Nonsense, nonsense!”

“What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?” cried he. “Do you consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you there. What say you, Deandra? For you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read great books and make extracts.”

Deandra wished to say something sensible, but knew not how.

“While Deandra is adjusting her ideas,” he continued, “let us return to Mr. Kelly.”

“I am sick of Mr. Kelly,” cried his wife.

“I am sorry to hear that; but why did not you tell me that before? If I had known as much this morning I certainly would not have called on him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now.”

The astonishment of the family was just what he wished; that of Mrs. Reynolds perhaps surpassing the rest; though, when the first tumult of joy was over, she began to declare that it was what she had expected all the while.

“How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Reynolds! But I knew I should persuade you at last. I was sure you loved your daughter too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! and it is such a good joke, too, that you should have gone this morning and never said a word about it till now.”

“Now, Deandra, you may cough as much as you choose,” said Mr. Reynolds, and, as he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.

“What an excellent father you have, children!” said she, when the door was shut. “I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness; or me, either, for that matter. At our time of life it is not so pleasant, I can tell you, to be making new acquaintances every day; but for your sakes, we would do anything. Deandra, my love, I dare say Mr. Kelly will dance with you at the next ball.”

“Oh!” said Deandra stoutly, “I am not afraid; for though I am the younger twin, I’m the tallest.”

The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would return Mr. Reynolds’s visit, and determining when they should ask him to dinner.

Chapter 3

Not all that Mrs. Reynolds, however, with the assistance of her two children, could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her husband any satisfactory description of Mr. Kelly. They attacked him in various ways—with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all, and they were at last obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour, Sir Mathis. His report was highly favourable. He had been delighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively hopes of Mr. Kelly’s heart were entertained.

“If I can but see my daughter happily settled at Paddy’s,” said Mrs. Reynolds to her husband, “and Denny equally well married, I shall have nothing to wish for.”

In a few days Mr. Kelly returned Mr. Reynolds’s visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young lady, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw only the father. Deandra was somewhat more fortunate, for she had the advantage of ascertaining from an upper window that he wore a blue coat, and drove a black car.

An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched; and already had Mrs. Reynolds planned the courses that were to do credit to her housekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Kelly was obliged to be in town the following day, and, consequently, unable to accept the honour of their invitation, etc. Mrs. Reynolds was quite disconcerted. She could not imagine what business he could have in town so soon after his arrival in Philadelphia; and she began to fear that he might be always flying about from one place to another, and never settled at Paddy’s as he ought to be. Lord McPoyle quieted her fears a little by starting the idea of his being gone to Pittsburgh only to get a large party for the ball; and a report soon followed that Mr. Kelly was to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the assembly. Deandra grieved over such a number of ladies, but was comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve he brought only six with him from Pittsburgh—his five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether—Mr. Kelly, his two sisters, his uncle, and another young man.

Mr. Kelly was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His uncle, Jack, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. MacDonald soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. Dennis pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, Deandra declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Kelly, and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud; to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his ownership stake in Paddy’s could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his friend.

Mr. Kelly had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at Paddy’s. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. MacDonald danced only once with each of Mr. Kelly’s sisters, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party. His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Reynolds, whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his having slighted one of her children.

Dennis Reynolds had been obliged, by the scarcity of ladies, to sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. MacDonald had been standing near enough for Dennis to hear a conversation between him and Mr. Kelly, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend to join it.

“Come, MacDonald,” said he, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”

“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”

“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Mr. Kelly, “for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty.”

“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” said Mr. MacDonald, looking at Deandra.

“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is her brother sitting down just behind you, who is very handsome, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

“Which do you mean?” and turning round he looked for a moment at Dennis, till catching his eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said: “He is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young men who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

Mr. Kelly followed his advice. Mr. MacDonald walked off; and Dennis remained with no very cordial feelings toward him. He told the story, however, with great spirit among his friends; for he had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous.

The evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs. Reynolds had seen her daughter much admired by the Paddy’s party. Mr. Kelly had danced with her twice, and she had been distinguished by his sisters. Deandra was as much gratified by this as her mother could be, though in a quieter way. Dennis felt Deandra’s pleasure. Deandra had heard herself mentioned to Miss Kelly as the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhood; and she had been fortunate enough never to be without a partner, which was all that she had yet learnt to care for at a ball. They returned, therefore, in good spirits to West Philadelphia, the neighbourhood where they lived, and of which they were the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Reynolds still up. With a book he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had a good deal of curiosity as to the event of an evening which had raised such splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that his wife’s views on the stranger would be disappointed; but he soon found out that he had a different story to hear.

“Oh! my dear Mr. Reynolds,” as she entered the room, “we have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Deandra was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked; and Mr. Kelly thought her quite beautiful, and danced with her twice! Only think of that, my dear; he actually danced with her twice! and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all, he asked Miss McPoyle. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her! But, however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know; and he seemed quite struck with Deandra as she was going down the dance. So he inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then the two third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Deandra again, and the two sixth with Denny, and the Boulanger—”

“If he had had any compassion for me,” cried her husband impatiently, “he would not have danced half so much! For God’s sake, say no more of his partners. Oh that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!”

“Oh! my dear, I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace upon Miss Kelly’s gown—”

Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Reynolds protested against any description of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch of the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit and some exaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. MacDonald.

“But I can assure you,” she added, “that Denny does not lose much by not suiting his fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set-downs. I quite detest the man.”