Scion of a fine old family, like the Newts, and Whitloes, and Octoynes of New York, Mr.Sligo Moultrie, born to be a gentleman, but born poor, was resolved to maintain his state.
Miss Grace Plumer, as we saw at Mrs.Boniface Newt's, had bright black eyes, profusely curling black hair, olive skin, pouting mouth, and pearly teeth.

Very rich, very pretty, and very merry was Miss Grace Plumer, who believed with enthusiastic faith that life was a ball, but who was very shrewd and very kindly also.
Sligo Moultrie understood distinctly why he was sitting at the window with Grace Plumer.
"The roses are in bloom at your home, I suppose, Miss Grace ?" said he.
"Yes, I suppose they are, and a dreadfully lonely time they're having of it.

Southern life, of course, is a hundred times better than life here; but it is a little lonely, isn't it, Mr.Moultrie ?" Grace said this turning her neck slightly, and looking an arch interrogatory at her companion.
"Yes, it is lonely in some ways.

But then there is so much going up to town and travelling that, after all, it is only a few months that we are at home; and a man ought to be at home a good deal--he ought not to be a vagabond." "Thank you," said Grace, bowing mockingly.
"I said 'a man,' you observe, Miss Grace." "Man includes woman, I believe, Mr.Moultrie." "In two cases--yes." "What are they ?" "When he holds her in his arms or in his heart." Here was a sudden volley masked in music.

Grace Plumer was charmed.