“Why, a good honest indifference, in the first place, which keeps the heart easy and somewhat indolent withal.  There is none of that sharp jealousy which is perpetually on the spy for offence.  None of that pulling and pouting—­falling out and falling in—­which are ever the accessories of love.  On the contrary, honest indifference minds the family—­honest indifference, mark, buys the beef and mutton, reckons the household linen—­eschews parties and all places of fashionable resort, attends to the children—­sees them educated, bled, blistered, et cetera, when necessary; and, what is still better, looks to their religion, hears them their catechism, brings them, in their clean bibs and tuckers, to church, and rewards that one who carries home most of the sermon with a large lump of sugar-candy.”

“These are very original views of marriage, my lord.”

“Aha!” thought his lordship, “I knew the originality would catch her.”

“Why, the fact is, Miss Gourlay, that I believe—­at least I think I may say—­that originality is my forte.  I have a horror against everything common.”

“I thought so, my lord,” replied Lucy; “your sense, for instance, is anything but common sense.”

“You are pleased to flatter me, Miss Gourlay, but you speak very truly; and that is because I always think for myself—­I do not wish to be measured by a common standard.”

“You are very right; my lord; it would be difficult, I fear, to find a common standard to measure you by.  One would imagine, for instance, that you have been on this principle absolutely studying the subject of matrimony.  At least, you are the first person I have ever met who has succeeded in completely stripping it of common sense, and there I must admit your originality.”

“Gad!” thought his lordship, “I have her with me—­I am getting on famously.”

“They would imagine right, Miss Gourlay; these principles are the result of a deep and laborious investigation into that mysterious and awful topic.  Honest indifference has no intrigues, no elopements, no disgraceful trials for criminal conversation, no divorces.  No; your lovers in the yoke of matrimony, when they tilt with each other, do it sharply, with naked weapons; whereas, the worthy indifferents, in the same circumstances, have a wholesome regard for each other, and rattle away only with the scabbards.  Upon my honor, Miss Gourlay, I am quite delighted to hear that you are not attached to me.  I can now marry upon my own principles.  It is not my intention to coax, and fondle, and tease you after marriage; not at all.  I shall interfere as little as possible with your habits, and you, I trust, as little with mine.  We shall see each other only occasionally, say at church, for instance, for I hope you will have no objection to accompany me there.  Neither man nor woman knows what is due to society if they pass through the world without the comforts of religion.  All flesh—­ahem!—­no—­sufficient unto the day—­as Scripture says.”