“My lord, I think marriage a solemn subject, and—­”

“Most people find it so, Miss Gourlay.”

—­“And on that account that it ought to be exempted from ridicule.”

“I perfectly agree with you, Miss Gourlay:  it is indeed a serious subject, and ought not to be sported with or treated lightly.”

“My lord,” said Lucy, “I must crave your attention for a few moments.  I believe the object of this interview is to satisfy you that I have given the consent which my father required and entreated of me.  But, my lord, you are mistaken.  Our union cannot take place upon your principles, and for this reason, there is no indifference in the case, so far, at least, as I am concerned.  It would not become me to express here, under my father’s roof, the sentiments which I feel.  Your own past life, my lord—­your habits, your associates, may enable you to understand them.  It is enough to say, that in wedding you I wed misery, wretchedness, despair; so that, in my case, at least, there is no ‘sentimental fraud’ committed.”

“Not a bit of it, Miss Gourlay; your conduct, I say, is candid and honorable; and I am quite satisfied that the woman who has strength of mind and love of truth to practice this candor before marriage, gives the best security for fidelity and all the other long list of matrimonial virtues afterwards.  I am perfectly charmed with your sentiments.  Indeed I was scarcely prepared for this.  Our position will be delightful.  The only thing I have any apprehension of is, lest this wholesome aversion might gradually soften into fondness, which, you know, would be rather unpleasant to us both.”

“My lord,” replied Lucy, rising up with disdain and indignation glowing in her face, “there is one sentiment due to every woman whose conduct is well regulated and virtuous—­that sentiment is, respect.  From you on this occasion, at least, and on this subject especially, I had thought myself entitled to it.  I find I have been mistaken, however.  Such a sentiment is utterly incompatible with the heartless tirade of buffoonery in which you have indulged.  This dialogue is very painful, my lord.  I have already intimated to you that I am prepared to fulfil the engagement into which my father has entered with you.  I know—­I feel what the result will be—­you are to consider me your victim, my lord, as well as your wife.”

“Excuse me, Miss Gourlay, I was utterly unconscious of any buffoonery.  Upon my honor, I expressed on the subject of matrimony no principles that I do not feel; but as to your charge of disrespect, I solemnly assure you there is not an individual of your sex in existence whom I respect more highly; nor do I believe there is a lady living more signally entitled to it from all who have the honor to know her.”

“Then, if you be serious, my lord, it betrays a painful equality between your understanding and your heart.  No man with such a heart should enter into the state of matrimony at all; and no man with an understanding level to such principles is capable either of communicating or receiving happiness.”