aims: a woman with a spirit
of romance, and a brain of solid sense. I shall sooner or later dedicate myself
to a public life; and shall, I suppose, want the counsellor or comforter who
ought always to be found at home. It may be unfortunate that I have the ideal in
my head. But I would never make rigorous demands for specific qualities. The
cruellest thing in the world is to set up a living model before a wife, and
compel her to copy it. In any case, here we are upon the road: the die is cast.
I shall not reprieve myself. I cannot release her. Marriage represents facts,
courtship fancies. She will be cured by-and-by of that coveting of everything
that I do, feel, think, dream, imagine ... ta-ta-ta-ta ad infinitum. Lætitia was
invited here to show her the example of a fixed character - solid as any
concrete substance you would choose to build on, and not a whit the less
feminine.«
    »Ta-ta-ta-ta ad infinitum. You need not tell me you have a design in all
that you do, Willoughby Patterne.«
    »You smell the autocrat? Yes, he can mould and govern the creatures about
him. His toughest rebel is himself! If you see Clara ... You wish to see her, I
think you said?«
    »Her behaviour to Lady Busshe last night was queer.«
    »If you will. She makes a mouth at porcelain. Toujours la porcelaine! For
me, her pettishness is one of her charms, I confess it. Ten years younger, I
could not have compared them.«
    »Whom?«
    »Lætitia and Clara.«
    »Sir Willoughby, in any case, to quote you, here we are all upon the road,
and we must act as if events were going to happen; and I must ask her to help me
on the subject of my wedding-present, for I don't want to have her making mouths
at mine, however pretty - and she does it prettily.«
    »Another dedicatory offering to the rogue in me! she says of porcelain.«
    »Then porcelain it shall not be. I mean to consult her; I have come
determined upon a chat with her. I think I understand. But she produces false
impressions on those who don't know you both. I shall have that porcelain back,
says Lady Busshe to me, when we were shaking hands last night: I think, says