ine distinctions."

"Oh yes! Good-nature implies indulgence, which he has not; geniality,
warmth of heart, which he does not own; and genuine justice is the
offspring of sympathy and considerateness, of which, I can well
conceive, my bronzed old friend is quite innocent."

"I often wonder, Shirley, whether most men resemble my uncle in their
domestic relations; whether it is necessary to be new and unfamiliar to
them in order to seem agreeable or estimable in their eyes; and whether
it is impossible to their natures to retain a constant interest and
affection for those they see every day."

"I don't know. I can't clear up your doubts. I ponder over similar ones
myself sometimes. But, to tell you a secret, if I were convinced that
they are necessarily and universally different from us--fickle, soon
petrifying, unsympathizing--I would never marry. I should not like to
find out that what I loved did not love me, that it was weary of me, and
that whatever effort I might make to please would hereafter be worse
than useless, since it was inevitably in its nature to change and become
indifferent. That discovery once made, what should I long for? To go
away, to remove from a presence where my society gave no pleasure."

"But you could not if you were married."

"No, I could not. There it is. I could never be my own mistress more. A
terrible thought! It suffocates me! Nothing irks me like the idea of
being a burden and a bore--an inevitable burden, a ceaseless bore! Now,
when I feel my company superfluous, I can comfortably fold my
independence round me like a mantle, and drop my pride like a veil, and
withdraw to solitude. If married, that could not be."

"I wonder we don't all make up our minds to remain single," said
Caroline. "We should if we listened to the wisdom of experience. My
uncle always speaks of marriage as a burden; and I believe whenever he
hears of a man being married he invariably regards him as a fool, or, at
any rate, as doing a foolish thing."

"But, Caroline, men are not all like your uncle. Surely not. I hope
not."

She paused and mused.

"I suppose we each find an exception in the one we love, till we _are_
married," suggested Caroline.

"I suppose so. And this exception we believe to be of sterling
materials. We fancy it like ourselves; we imagine a sense of harmony. We
think his voice gives the softest, truest promise of a heart that will
never harden against us; we read in his eyes that fai