iplying artificial
wants. Your wife must have none."

"Yes, but wealth and position are not to be despised. I feel
that, now that it is all done past recall, and I have to think of
you. But the loss of them is a mere nothing to what you will have
to go through."

"What do you mean dear? Of course we must expect some troubles,
like other people."

"Why, I mean, Mary that you might, at least, have married a
contented man, some one who found the world a very good world,
and was satisfied with things as they are, and had light enough
to steer himself by; and not a fellow like me, full of all manner
of doubts and perplexities, who sees little but wrong in the
world about him, and more in himself."

"You think I should have been more comfortable?"

"Yes, more comfortable and happier. What right had I to bring my
worries on you? For I know you can't live with me, dearest, and
not be bothered and annoyed when I am anxious and dissatisfied."

"But what if I did not marry you to be comfortable?"

"My darling, you never thought about it, and I was too selfish to
think for you."

"There now, you see, it's just as I said."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that you are quite wrong in thinking that I have been
deceived. I did not marry you, dear, to be comfortable, and I did
think it all over; ay, over and over again. So you are not to run
away with the belief that you have taken me in."

"I shall be glad enough to give it up, dearest, if you can
convince me."

"Then you will listen while I explain?"

"Yes, with all my ears and all my heart."

"You remember the year we met, when we danced and went nutting
together, a thoughtless boy and girl--"

"Remember it! Have I ever--"

"You are not to interrupt. Of course you remember it all, and are
ready to tell me that you loved me the first moment that you saw
me at the window in High street. Well, perhaps I shall not object
to being told it at a proper time, but now I am making my
confessions. I liked you then, because you were Katie's cousin,
and almost my first partner, and were never tired of dancing, and
were generally merry and pleasant, though you sometimes took to
lecturing, even in those days."

"But, Mary--"

"You are to be silent now and listen. I liked you then. But you
are not to look conceited and flatter yourself. It was only a
girl's fancy. I couldn't have married you then--given myself up
to you. No, I don't think I could, even on the night when fished