resemblance between that fair, blue-eyed, plumpish, elderly gentleman
and the lean, dark-eyed, saturnine, lofty Kenelm; she detects the
likeness which nobody else would. She begins to love Sir Peter,
though he has not said a word to her.

Ah! on this, a word for what it is worth to you, my young readers.
You, sir, wishing to marry a girl who is to be deeply, lastingly in
love with you, and a thoroughly good wife practically, consider well
how she takes to your parents; how she attaches to them an
inexpressible sentiment, a disinterested reverence; even should you
but dimly recognize the sentiment, or feel the reverence, how if
between you and your parents some little cause of coldness arise, she
will charm you back to honour your father and your mother, even though
they are not particularly genial to her: well, if you win that sort of
girl as your wife think you have got a treasure. You have won a woman
to whom Heaven has given the two best attributes,--intense feeling of
love, intense sense of duty. What, my dear lady reader, I say of one
sex, I say of another, though in a less degree; because a girl who
marries becomes of her husband's family, and the man does not become
of his wife's. Still I distrust the depth of any man's love to a
woman, if he does not feel a great degree of tenderness (and
forbearance where differences arise) for her parents. But the wife
must not so put them in the foreground as to make the husband think he
is cast in the cold of the shadow. Pardon this intolerable length of
digression, dear reader: it is not altogether a digression, for it
belongs to my tale that you should clearly understand the sort of girl
that is personified in Cecilia Travers.

"What has become of Kenelm?" asked Lady Glenalvon.