He thinks the fault must have been with the dinner.
A young friend of mine--a man of good family--contracted a _mesalliance_: that is, he married the daughter of a Canadian farmer, a frank, amiable girl, bewitchingly pretty, with more character in her little finger than some girls possess in their whole body.

I met him one day, some three months after his return to London.
And only people would do Parlour Tricks who do them well! "Well," I asked him, "how is it shaping ?" "She is the dearest girl in the world," he answered.

"She has only got one fault; she believes what people say." "She will get over that," I suggested.
"I hope she does," he replied; "it's awkward at present." "I can see it leading her into difficulty," I agreed.
"She is not accomplished," he continued.

He seemed to wish to talk about it to a sympathetic listener.

"She never pretended to be accomplished.