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 have asked Lady Carew, who is staying here, all about him. He is the son of Lord Lucre, she tells me; she knows his family well. It is, as you know, an excellent one in point of position; and this young man is better off than most younger sons, for he has his mother's whole fortune, which is something very handsome. The elder brother has epilepsy, will never marry, and your friend is sure sooner or later to succeed to the title and estates. Lady Carew says it will probably be sooner, for his brother is not expected to live long. Now, if things have gone as far as I suppose they have, my solemn advice to you, Gladys, is to marry Mr. Larkington. He is the sort of man best calculated to make you happy, as he brings all the things you need most,—money, an assured position, and in time a title. My dear, take the advice of a lonely woman, an old maid, and do not hesitate. You have grown, as I did before you, too difficile. It is the curse of American girls with beauty or money, that they have so many chances to marry. They discard this one for one fault, that one because he lacks some certain virtue; in fine, they end by expecting to find a paragon, which shall unite all the virtues and be without any of the faults of manhood. Of course they don't find him, and they remain unmarried and