and judgment, and good breeding; and not altogether
heartlessly either. She had thought much on the subject since George
had first thrown himself at her feet, and had concluded, putting the
good against the bad, and balancing the affair as accurately as facts
would enable her, that the match would be one which she ought to
regard as desirable. There were two valid reasons, however, why she
should not at once accept his offer. Firstly, he might not know his
own mind, and it might be serviceable to him to have the option of
renewing his proposal or retreating from it after a few months' trial
of his own feelings. And secondly, she hardly knew her own mind. She
could not in truth say yet whether she did love him, or whether she
did not. She was rather inclined to think she did; but it would be
well that she should try the matter before she committed herself.

The statement made by her aunt that George would doubtless be his
uncle's heir certainly had its weight with her. It would be wrong
in her to engage herself to a man who was without the means of
maintaining her in that rank of life in which she had resolved to
live; wrong both on his account and on her own. She felt that she
could not be a good poor man's wife. It was not the walk of life for
which she had destined herself. She had made up her mind on that
point too, and having made it up was not weak enough to be driven
from her resolve by any little gust of feeling. She did like
Bertram--much, very much, better then she had ever liked any other
man. He came up in many points to her idea of what a man should be.
He was not sufficiently collected, not sufficiently thoughtful, and
perhaps almost too enthusiastic: success in life would be easier to
a man who put less heart into everything he said and did. But years
would teach him much in this respect, and she also might perhaps
teach him something. She did like Bertram; and what objection could
there be to the match if, as appeared so probable, he was to inherit
his uncle's money?

Prudent as she was, she was ready to run some risk in this respect.
She did not wish to be a poor man's wife; but neither did she wish
to be an idle man's wife. What she did desire was, that her husband
should be an earnest, rising, successful man;--one whose name, as she
had herself said to Bertram, might be frequent in men's mouths, and
daily to be read in the columns of newspapers. She would not marry
a fool, even though he were also a