"And as for this romance of love," the young nobleman went on, kindling
as he spoke, and forgetting the slang and colloquialisms with which we
garnish all our conversation--"this fine picture of Jenny and Jessamy
falling in love at first sight, billing and cooing in an arbour, and
retiring to a cottage afterwards to go on cooing and billing--Psha! what
folly is this! It is good for romances, and for misses to sigh about;
but any man who walks through the world with his eyes open, knows how
senseless is all this rubbish. I don't say that a young man and woman
are not to meet, and to fall in love that instant, and to marry that day
year, and love each other till they are a hundred; that is the supreme
lot--but that is the lot which the gods only grant to Baucis and
Philemon, and a very, very few besides. As for the rest, they must
compromise; make themselves as comfortable as they can, and take the
good and the bad together. And as for Jenny and Jessamy, by Jove! look
round among your friends, count up the love matches, and see what has
been the end of most of them! Love in a cottage! Who is to pay the
landlord for the cottage? Who is to pay for Jenny's tea and cream, and
Jessamy's mutton-chops? If he has cold mutton, he will quarrel with her.
If there is nothing in the cupboard, a pretty meal they make. No, you
cry out against people in our world making money marriages. Why, kings
and queens marry on the same understanding. My butcher has saved a
stockingful of money, and marries his daughter to a young salesman; Mr.
and Mrs. Salesman prosper in life, and get an alderman's daughter for
their son. My attorney looks out amongst his clients for an eligible
husband for Miss Deeds; sends his son to the bar, into Parliament, where
he cuts a figure and becomes attorney-general, makes a fortune, has
a house in Belgrave Square, and marries Miss Deeds of the second
generation to a peer. Do not accuse us of being more sordid than our
neighbours. We do but as the world does; and a girl in our society
accepts the best party which offers itself, just as Miss Chummey, when
entreated by two young gentlemen of the order of costermongers, inclines
to the one who rides from market on a moke, rather than to the gentleman
who sells his greens from a handbasket."

This tirade, which his lordship delivered with considerable spirit,
was intended no doubt to carry a moral for Clive's private hearing;
and which, to do him justice, the youth was