The Two Mr. Smiths

"It is not either her money or her position that dashes me, Carrol; it
is my own name. Think of asking Eleanor Bethune to become Mrs. William
Smith! If it had been Alexander Smith--"

"Or Hyacinth Smith."

"Yes, Hyacinth Smith would have done; but plain William Smith!"

"Well, as far as I can see, you are not to blame. Apologize to the lady
for the blunder of your godfathers and godmothers. Stupid old parties!
They ought to have thought of Hyacinth;" and Carrol threw his cigar into
the fire and began to buckle on his spurs.

"Come with me, Carrol."

"No, thank you. It is against my principles to like anyone better than
myself, and Alice Fontaine is a temptation to do so."

"_I_ don't like Alice's style at all."

"Of course not. Alice's beauty, as compared with Mrs. Bethune's settled
income, is skin-deep."

If sarcasm was intended, Smith did not perceive it. He took the
criticism at its face value, and answered, "Yes, Eleanor's income is
satisfactory; and besides that, she has all kinds of good qualities,
and several accomplishments. If I only could offer her, with myself, a
suitable name for them!"

"Could you not, in taking Mrs. Bethune and her money, take her name
also?"

"N-n-no. A man does not like to lose all his individuality in his
wife's, Carrol."

"Well, then, I have no other suggestion, and I am going to ride."

So Carrol went to the park, and Smith went to his mirror. The occupation
gave him the courage he wanted. He was undoubtedly a very handsome man,
and he had, also, very fine manners; indeed, he would have been a very
great man if the world had only been a drawing-room, for, polished and
fastidious, he dreaded nothing so much as an indecorum, and had the air
of being uncomfortable unless his hands were in kid gloves.

Smith had a standing invitation to Mrs. Bethune's five-o'clock teas, and
he was always considered an acquisition. He was also very fond of going
to them; for under no circumstances was Mrs. Bethune so charming. To see
her in this hour of perfect relaxation was to understand how great and
beautiful is the art of idleness. Her ease and grace, her charming
aimlessness, her indescribable air of inaction, were all so many proofs
of her having been born in the purple of wealth and fashion; no parvenu
could ever hope to imitate them.

Alice Fontaine never tried. She had been taken from a life of polite
shifts and struggles by her cousin, Mrs. Bethune, two years before; and
the circumstances that were to the one the mere accidents of her
position were to the other a real holiday-making.

Alice