regular matrimonial feeling; but that may be alleviated by a splendid house, magnificent fêtes—by influence in society, jewels, laces, a lap-dog, and half-a-dozen lovers."
"I will be content with one," replied Francesca.
"Don't marry him, then. Marrying for love is like putting from shore to dwell in the morning palace the fay Morgana builds at daybreak on the coast of Naples. Fair and far the glistening halls extend, and the shining gardens seem filled with fruit and flowers; but the wind gets up, the glittering pinnacles melt into the cloudy sky, the haunted terraces vanish, and the golden chimera, born of sunshine and vapour, is no more. Suddenly you find yourself in a little wretched boat, rocked by the waves into sea-sickness, scorched by the hot noon, tossed about by a rough breeze, and left to weep or curse your fate as may best suit your peculiar disposition."
"But you say nothing about your companion in the boat?"
"Because I look upon him as a nonentity. But though I have your interest at heart, I have also my own complexion: we may dream of conquests to-night, but we shall not make them to-morrow, if 'we look pale and weary with long watching,'—so adieu!"
