He was struck back for a moment, but recovered himself quickly.
"And you would really value that sort of love? Sort of thing that dies out in the honeymoon—and then, where are you? You're awfully young, Miss Shaw, and know nothing of life—nothing! Look at a man's character—that's the main thing. If it stands high, and he has got brains, and—and—that you like him, you've a better chance of happiness with him, believe me, than with your love-at-first-sighter!"
"Perhaps." There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye, only he could not see it through her veil, as she went on. "I am thinking of founding a college for women-artists, and endowing it. It will take the greater part of my fortune; but I shall live there myself, which I shall love, and paint all day—which will be much nicer than leading a stupid life in the world."
"If you take such a mad step, you will regret it, all your days," he fired off sharply.
"I don't think so. I know so very well what I don't want. That is one step in advance towards being happy, isn't it?"
"Not always at your time of life. What is it you don't want?"
"A great position in London, constant society, country-houses; and, more than all, I should hate official life. All the talk about 'party,' all the political intriguery, would bore me dreadfully."
"You are unjust to yourself—unjust to public life. Low elements in it, I grant. But not entirely made up of them. There is such a thing as patriotism. If you
