he could not bear the girl. Would it not be the height of absurdity
to marry a girl he strongly disliked because twenty years hence she
might be more suitable to him than the woman he now loved and who
loved him?

Nor could Nellie Fanshawe bring herself to discuss without laughter
the suggestion of marrying on a hundred-and-fifty a year a curate that
she positively hated. There would come a time when wealth would be
indifferent to her, when her exalted spirit would ask but for the
satisfaction of self-sacrifice. But that time had not arrived. The
emotions it would bring with it she could not in her present state
even imagine. Her whole present being craved for the things of this
world, the things that were within her grasp. To ask her to forego
them now because later on she would not care for them! it was like
telling a schoolboy to avoid the tuck-shop because, when a man, the
thought of stick-jaw would be nauseous to him. If her capacity for
enjoyment was to be short-lived, all the more reason for grasping joy
quickly.

Alice Blatchley, when her lover was not by, gave herself many a
headache trying to think the thing out logically. Was it not foolish
of her to rush into this marriage with dear Nat? At forty she would
wish she had married somebody else. But most women at forty--she
judged from conversation round about her--wished they had married
somebody else. If every girl at twenty listened to herself at forty
there would be no more marriage. At forty she would be a different
person altogether. That other elderly person did not interest her.
To ask a young girl to spoil her life purely in the interests of this
middle-aged party--it did not seem right. Besides, whom else was she
to marry? Camelford would not have her; he did not want her then; he