“Love!” exclaimed Lady Emily; “can I credit my ears?  Love! did you say I thought that had only been for naughty ones, such as me; and that saints like you would have married for anything and everything but love!  Prudence, I thought, had been the word with you proper ladies—­a prudent marriage!  Come, confess, is not that the climax of virtue in the creed of your school?”

“I never learnt the creed of any school,” said Mary, “nor ever heard anyone’s sentiments on the subject, except my dear Mrs. Douglas’s.”

“Well, I should like to hear your oracle’s opinion, if you can give it in shorthand.”

“She warned me there was a passion which was very fashionable, and which I should hear a great deal of, both in conversation and books, that was the result of indulged fancy, warm imaginations, and ill-regulated minds; that many had fallen into its snares, deceived by its glowing colours and alluring name; that—­”

“A very good sermon, indeed!” interrupted Lady Emily; “but, no offence to Mrs. Douglas, I think I could preach a better myself.  Love is a passion that has been much talked of, often described, and little understood.  Cupid has many counterfeits going about the world, who pass very well with those whose minds are capable of passion, but not of love.  These Birmingham Cupids have many votaries amongst boarding-school misses, militia officers, and milliners ’apprentices; who marry upon the mutual faith of blue eyes and scarlet coats; have dirty houses and squalling children, and hate each other most delectably.  Then there is another species for more refined souls, which owes its birth to the works of Rousseau, Goethe, Cottin, etc.  Its success depends very much upon rocks, woods, and waterfalls; and it generally ends daggers, pistols, or poison.  But there, I think, Lindore would be more eloquent than me, so I shall leave it for him to discuss that chapter with you.  But, to return to your own immediate concerns.  Pray, are you then positively prohibited from falling in love?  Did Mrs. Douglas only dress up a scarecrow to frighten you, or had she the candour to show you Love himself in all his majesty?”

“She told me,” said Mary, “that there was a love which even the wisest and most virtuous need not blush to entertain—­the love of a virtuous object, founded upon esteem, and heightened by similarity of tastes and sympathy of feelings, into a pure and devoted attachment:  unless I feel all this, I shall never fancy myself in love.”

“Humph!  I can’t say much as to the similarity of tastes and sympathy of souls between the Duke and you, but surely you might contrive to feel some love and esteem for a coronet and ninety thousand a year.” 
  “Suppose I did,” said Mary, with a smile, “the next point
is to honour; and surely he is as unlikely to excite that sentiment as the other.  Honour—–­”