The mathematician was downcast.

'I'm sorry to hear that. It won't do. We must conform. Besides, in that
case the person decidedly isn't suitable to you. You of all men must
marry a lady.'

'I should never think of any one that wasn't a lady.'

'Is emancipation getting as far as that? Do ladies enter into that kind
of union?'

'I don't know of any example. That's just why the idea tempts me.'
Barfoot would go no further in explanation.

'How about your new algebra?'

'Alas! My dear boy, the temptation is so frightful--when I get back
home. Remember that I have never known what it was to sit and talk
through the evening with ordinary friends, let alone--It's too much for
me just yet. And, you know, I don't venture to work on Sundays. That
will come; all in good time. I must grant myself half a year of luxury
after such a life as mine has been.'

'Of course you must. Let algebra wait.'

'I think it over, of course, at odd moments. Church on Sunday morning
is a good opportunity.'

Barfoot could not stay to see the old year out, but good wishes were
none the less heartily exchanged before he went. Micklethwaite walked
with him to the railway station; at a few paces' distance from his
house he stood and pointed back to it.

'That little place, Barfoot, is one of the sacred spots of the earth.
Strange to think that the house has been waiting for me there through
all the years of my hopelessness. I feel that a mysterious light ought
to shine about it. It oughtn't to look just like common houses.'

On his way home Everard thought over what he had seen and heard,
smiling good-naturedly. Well, that was one ideal of marriage. Not _his_
ideal; but very beautiful amid the vulgarities and vileness of ordinary
experience. It was the old fashion in its purest presentment; the
consecrated form of domestic happiness, removed beyond reach of satire,
only to be touched, if touched at all, with the very gentlest irony.

A life by no means for him. If he tried it, even with a woman so
perfect, he would perish of _ennui_. For him marriage must not mean
repose, inevitably tending to drowsiness, but the mutual incitement of
vigorous minds. Passion--yes, there must be passion, at all events to
begin with; passion not impossible of revival in days subsequent to its
first indulgence. Beauty in the academic sense he no longer demanded;
enough that the face spoke eloquently, that the limbs were vigorous.
Let beauty perish if it can