Do not think that I am, for one moment, depreciating sentiment. I
worship it; I am a sentimentalist myself. But everything has its
place, and sentiment of this kind belongs to young unmarried life--to
the period when you are engaged, or when you ought to be engaged.
The young man whom I have described--the crisp, perfect, insipid,
dry-toast man--would only be bored by a wife who wanted to be on
sentimental terms with him. I remember a case in point. A young girl,
whom I knew intimately, married a man who was, as a husband, perfect.
They lived happily enough for three or four years; she had a couple
of children, a beautiful house, everything that could be desired. And
then the trouble came. She had been reading trashy novels, I suppose;
at any rate, she fell in love with her own husband. She went in daily
dread that he would find it out. I argued with her, reasoned with her,
entreated her to give up such ruinous folly. It was of no use. She
wrote him letters--three sheets, crossed and underlined. I warned her
that sooner or later he would read one of them. He did; and he never
forgave her. That happy home is all broken up now--simply because that
woman could not remember that there is a time for sentiment and a
time for propriety, and that marriage is the time for propriety. The
passions are all very well until you are married; but the fashions
will last you all your life.

I have no more to say on the choice of a husband. It is quite the
simplest thing that a young girl has to learn,--you must find a quite
colourless person, and flatter him a little; his vanity will do the
rest. And when you are married to him, you will find him much easier
to tolerate than a man who has any strong characteristic. Do not get
into the habit of thinking marriage important; it is only important in
so far as it affects externals; it need not touch the interior of your
life.