ch and chip it all over artistically to give it an
elderly-looking surface; which at the present rate of labor would not
answer."

"Do you want to keep up the old fashions, then, Mr. Deronda?" said
Gwendolen, taking advantage of the freedom of grouping to fall back a
little, while Sir Hugo and Grandcourt went on.

"Some of them. I don't see why we should not use our choice there as we
do elsewhere--or why either age or novelty by itself is an argument for
or against. To delight in doing things because our fathers did them is
good if it shuts out nothing better; it enlarges the range of
affection--and affection is the broadest basis of good in life."

"Do you think so?" said Gwendolen with a little surprise. "I should
have thought you cared most about ideas, knowledge, wisdom, and all
that."

"But to care about _them_ is a sort of affection," said Deronda,
smiling at her sudden _naivete_. "Call it attachment; interest, willing
to bear a great deal for the sake of being with them and saving them
from injury. Of course, it makes a difference if the objects of
interest are human beings; but generally in all deep affections the
objects are a mixture--half persons and half ideas--sentiments and
affections flow in together."

"I wonder whether I understand that," said Gwendolen, putting up her
chin in her old saucy manner. "I believe I am not very affectionate;
perhaps you mean to tell me, that is the reason why I don't see much
good in life."

"No, I did _not_ mean to tell you that; but I admit that I should think
it true if I believed what you say of yourself," said Deronda, gravely.

Here Sir Hugo and Grandcourt turned round and paused.

"I never can get Mr. Deronda to pay me a compliment," said Gwendolen.
"I have quite a curiosity to see whether a little flattery can be
extracted from him."

"Ah!" said Sir Hugo, glancing at Deronda, "the fact is, it is useless
to flatter a bride. We give it up in despair. She has been so fed on
sweet speeches that every thing we say seems tasteless."

"Quite true," said Gwendolen, bending her head and smiling. "Mr.
Grandcourt won me by neatly-turned compliments. If there had been one
word out of place it would have been fatal."

"Do you hear that?" said Sir Hugo, looking at the husband.

"Yes," said Grandcourt, without change of countenance. "It's a deucedly
hard thing to keep up, though."

All this seemed to Sir Hugo a natural playfulness between such a
husband and wife;