girl's voice, every glance of her eye, and would have kept in a casket
of gold and diamonds the little fragrant glove she once let fall. He
envied the penniless and brainless boys, who, with ready gallantry,
pushed by him to escort her to her carriage; and he lay awake at night
to form into words the answer he ought to have made, when she threw at
him some careless phrase, and gave him the opportunity to blunder.

And she, meanwhile, unconscious of his passion, went by him in her
beauty, and caught him in the net she never threw. Emilia was always
piquant, because she was indifferent; she had never made an effort
in her life, and she had no respect for persons. She was capable of
marrying for money, perhaps, but the sacrifice must all be completed in
a single vow. She would not tutor nor control herself for the purpose.
Hand and heart must be duly transferred, she supposed, whenever the time
was up; but till then she must be free.

This with her was not art, but necessity; yet the most accomplished art
could have devised nothing so effectual to hold her lover. His strong
sense had always protected him from the tricks of matchmaking mammas and
their guileless maids. Had Emilia made one effort to please him, once
concealed a dislike, once affected a preference, the spell might
have been broken. Had she been his slave, he might have become a very
unyielding or a very heedless despot. Making him her slave, she kept
him at the very height of bliss. This king of railways and purchaser of
statesmen, this man who made or wrecked the fortunes of others by his
whim, was absolutely governed by a reckless, passionate, inexperienced,
ignorant girl.

And this passion was made all the stronger by being a good deal confined
to his own breast. Somehow it was very hard for him to talk sentiment
to Emilia; he instinctively saw she disliked it, and indeed he liked her
for not approving the stiff phrases which were all he could command. Nor
could he find any relief of mind in talking with others about her. It
enraged him to be clapped on the back and congratulated by his compeers;
and he stopped their coarse jokes, often rudely enough. As for the young
men at the club, he could not bear to hear them mention his darling's
name, however courteously. He knew well enough that for them the
betrothal had neither dignity nor purity; that they held it to be as
much a matter of bargain and sale as their worst amours. He would far
rather have tal