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"A strange fancy," said her father, "but tastes, even odd ones, give a charm to life, whereas passions " he put some stress upon the word and repeated it, "passions destroy it." "Marshire, at any rate, does not seem to possess either!" "Well, a man must begin at some point, and, at some point, he must change. He admires and respects you, my darling, so we may hardly quarrel with his judgment."
Sara had never before defied him. She had never before seemed to feel her power as a creature incomparably superior in brilliancy to all the other girls in their circle. She had never before seemed to pity him as a man who had feared to do what Marshire a being considered remarkable only for his family and his fortune had boldly, gladly volunteered to carry out to the ultimate consequence.
She could imagine herself a Poor Clare: she could not imagine herself as a great young lady dividing her hours judiciously between district visiting and the ball-room, between the conquest of eligible bachelors and the salvation of vulgar souls. Marshire, she knew, had sisters and cousins who did these things and were considered patterns.
The news, too, that she had been chosen as a bride by the prudent, rich, and most important Duke of Marshire made his lordship feel that perhaps he had committed a blunder in not having secured her, during her first season, for himself. He feared that he had lost an opportunity; and this reflection, while it lowered temporarily his self-esteem, placed Sara on a dangerous eminence.
Sara shrugged her shoulders and turned her glance away from the few carriages filled with invalids or elderly women which were still lingering in the Row. "Some people," said she, "are driven by their passions, others, the smaller number, by their virtues. Marshire has asked me to marry him because it is his duty to choose a wife from his own circle. I have no illusions in the matter.
She is with him constantly, reading to him, and doing everything for him. She will be a cruel loss to his home when she marries." "I rather revel at the thought of the dismay which will attend her final capture of Marshire." "I used to hope that you perhaps " He glanced up and smiled with an air of satisfaction.
Pensée, before this torrent, was shaking like some small flower in a violent gale. "You say things, Sara, that no one says things that one ought not to say. You must be quieter. You won't be happy when you are married if you begin with so much feeling!" "I am not going to marry that one," said Sara bitterly. "I am going to marry Marshire."
It takes an eternity to sound the infinite. We won't talk of you: we can talk about other people. Ask me what I have been doing." All this time she held his hand, but in such sisterly, kind fashion, that he felt more at ease with her than it was ever possible to be with Pensée, who was timid, and therefore disturbing. "Have you accepted Marshire?" he asked at once.
She had been well aware always of his affection, and the certainty had given a peculiar emotional value to every scene no matter how commonplace to every occasion, no matter how crowded, to every conversation, no matter how trivial in which he figured or his name transpired. He and poor Marshire were the two men in the world who really loved her.
"I don't like the appearance of measuring myself against Marshire.... But but he certainly seems, in character, the culminating point of mediocrity! In fact, Mr. Disraeli, whom I seldom quote, so described him." "What a husband for that brilliant, affectionate girl! She likes all that is simple and grand.
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