he had his prejudices,
and could not do this. Love he insisted upon, and love would not come.
Accordingly, when the second season was over he gave up both the quest
and the idea, and resolved to think of marrying no more, which was a
sensible relief to him. For indeed he was exceedingly comfortable as he
was; his chambers were excellent, and he did not think that any street
or square in Belgravia would have reconciled him to giving up the
Temple. He had excellent servants, a man and his wife, who took the
greatest care of him. He had settled into a life which was arranged as
he liked, with much freedom, and yet an agreeable routine which John
was too wise to despise. He relinquished the idea of marrying then and
there. To be sure there is never any prophesying what may happen. A
little laughing gipsy of a girl may banish such a resolution out of a
man's mind in the twinkling of an eye, at any moment. But short of such
accidents as that, and he smiled at the idea of anything of the kind, he
quite made up his mind on this point with a great sensation of relief.

It is curious how determined the mind of the English public at least is
on this subject--that the man or woman who does not marry (especially
the woman, by-the-bye) has an unhappy life, and that a story which does
not end in a wedding is no story at all, or at least ends badly, as
people say. It happened to myself on one occasion to put together in a
book the story of some friends of mine, in which this was the case. They
were young, they were hopeful, they had all life before them, but they
did not marry. And when the last chapter came to the consciousness of
the publisher he struck, with the courage of a true Briton, not ashamed
of his principles, and refused to pay. He said it was no story at
all--so beautiful is marriage in the eyes of our countrymen. I hope,
however, that nobody will think any harm of John Tatham because he
concluded, after considerable and patient trial, that he was not a
marrying man. There is no harm in that. A great number of those Catholic
priests whom it was the habit in my youth to commiserate deeply, as if
they were vowed to the worst martyrdom, live very happy lives in their
celibacy and prefer it, as John Tatham did. It will be apparent to the
reader that he really preferred it to Elinor, while Elinor was in his
power. And though afterwards it gave a comfort and grace to his life to
think that it was his faithful but subdued love for