“Do you not see?” she rejoined.  “My project is nothing but a whim—­a whim.”

The divided man saw himself whole, if not happy in the ranks of Diplomacy, with a resolute, frank, faithful woman (a lady of title) loving him, to back him.  Fortune shone ahead, and on the road he saw where his deficiencies would be filled up by her.  She was firm and open—­he irresolute and self-involved.  Animal courage both possessed.  Their differences were so extreme that they met where they differed.  It struck him specially now that she would be like Day to his spirit in continued intercourse.  Young as he was he had wisdom to know the right meaning of the word “helpmate.”  It was as if the head had dealt the heart a blow, saying, “See here the lady thou art to serve.”  But the heart was a surly rebel.  Lady Charlotte was fully justified in retorting upon his last question:  “I think I also should ask, do you love me?  It is not absolutely imperative for the occasion or for the catastrophe, I merely ask for what is called information.”

And yet, despite her flippancy, which was partly designed to relieve his embarrassment, her hand was moist and her eyes were singularly watchful.

“You who sneer at love!” He gave a musical murmur.

“Not at all.  I think it a very useful part of the capital to begin the married business upon.”

“You unsay your own words.”

“Not ‘absolutely imperative,’ I think I said, if I remember rightly.”

“But I take the other view, Charlotte.”

“You imagine that there must be a little bit of love.”

“There should be no marriage without it.”

“On both sides?”

“At least, if not on both sides, one should bring such a love.”

“Enough for two!  So, then, we are not to examine your basket?”

Touched by the pretty thing herein implied, he squeezed her hand.

“This is the answer?” said she.

“Can you doubt me?”

She rose from her seat.  “Oh! if you talk in that style, I really am tempted to say that I do.  Are there men—­women and women—­men?  My dear Wilfrid, have we changed parts to-night?”

His quickness in retrieving a false position, outwardly, came to his aid.  He rose likewise, and, while perfecting the minor details of an easy attitude against the mantelpiece, said:  “I am so constituted, Charlotte, that I can’t talk of my feelings in a business tone; and I avoid that subject unless...  You spoke of a basket just now.  Well, I confess I can’t bring mine into the market and bawl out that I have so many pounds’ weight of the required material.  Would a man go to the market at all if he had nothing to dispose of?  In plain words—­since my fault appears to be, according to your reading, in the opposite direction—­should I be here if my sentiments could not reply eloquently to your question?”

This very common masterpiece of cunning from a man in a corner, which suggests with so persuasive an air that he has ruled his actions up to the very moment when he faces you, and had almost preconceived the present occasion, rather won Lady Charlotte; or it seemed to, or the scene had been too long for her vigilance.