“Very well argued, Lucy, only that you go upon wrong principles.  To be sure, I know that young ladies—­that is, very young and inexperienced ladies, somewhat like yourself, Lucy—­have, or pretend to have—­poor fools—­a horror of marrying those they don’t love; and I am aware, besides, that a man might as well attempt to make a stream run up hill as combat them upon this topic.  As for me, in spite of all my wealth and property—­I say this in deference to you—­I am really very happy this moment.”

“I am delighted to hear it, papa.  May I ask, what has contributed to make you so?”

“I shall mention that presently; but, in the mean time, my theory on this subject is, that, instead of marrying for love, I would recommend only such persons to contract matrimony as entertain a kind of lurking aversion for each other.  Let the parties commence with, say, a tolerably strong stock of honest hatred on both sides.  Very well; they, are united.  At first, there is a great deal of heroic grief, and much exquisite martyrdom on the part of the lady, whilst the gentleman is at once, if I may say so, indifferent and indignant.  By and by, however, they become tired of this.  The husband, who, as well as the wife, we shall suppose, has a strong spice of the devil in him, begins to entertain a kind of diabolical sympathy for the fire and temper she displays; while she, on the other hand, comes by degrees to admire in him that which she is conscious of possessing herself, that is to say, a sharp tongue and an energetic temperament.  In this way, Lucy, they go on, until habit has become a second nature to them.  The appetite for strife has been happily created.  At length, they find themselves so completely captivated by it that it becomes the charm of their existence.  Thenceforth a bewitching and discordant harmony prevails between them, and they entertain a kind of hostile affection for each other that is desperately delightful.”

“Why, you are quite a painter, papa; your picture is admirable; all it wants is truth and nature.”

“Thank you, Lucy; you are quite complimentary, and have made an artist of me, as artists now go.  But is not this much more agreeable and animated than the sweet dalliance of a sugar-plum life, or the dull, monotonous existence resembling a Dutch canal, which we term connubial happiness?”

“Well, now, papa, suppose you were to hear me through?”

“Very well,” he replied; “I will.”

“I do not believe, sir, that life can present us with anything more beautiful and delightful than the union of two hearts, two minds, two souls, in pure and mutual affection, when that affection is founded upon something more durable than mere beauty or personal attraction—­that is, when it is based upon esteem, and a thorough knowledge of the object we love.”

“Yes, Lucy; but remember there are such things as deceit, dissimulation, and hypocrisy in the world.”