d explaining?"

"I do not mean anything particular; but there are two kinds of love.
There is a love which one's good sense suggests--a sort of moral
approval----"

Elinor laughed. "Go on," she said. "What is the other sort?"

"The other sort has nothing to do with good sense. It is an overpowering
impulse--a craving--a faith that defies logic--something to look
forward to feeling in your youth, and look back to with a kindling heart
in your age."

"Indeed! Isnt the difference between the two sorts much the same as the
difference between the old love and the new?"

"What do you mean?"

"I think I will take another cup of tea. You neednt stop flying out at
me, though: I dont mind it."

"Excuse me. I did not mean to fly out at you."

"It's rather odd that we so seldom meet now without getting on this
subject and having a row. Has that struck you at all?"

Marian turned to the fire, and remained silent.

"Listen to me, Marian. You are in the blues. Why dont you go to Ned, and
tell him that he is a cast-iron walking machine, and that you are
unhappy, and want the society of a flesh-and-blood man? Have a furious
scene with him, and all will come right."

"It is very easy to talk. I could not go to him and make myself
ridiculous like that: the words would choke me. Besides, I am not
unhappy."

"What a lie! You wicked woman! A moment ago you were contemning all
prudence; and now you will not speak your mind because you are afraid of
being ridiculous. What is that but observing the wind and regarding the
clouds, I should like to know?"

"I wish you would not speak harshly to me, even in jest. It hurts me."

"Serve you right! I am not a bit remorseful. No matter: let us talk of
something else. Where did those flowers come from?"

"Douglas sent them. I am going to the theatre to-night; and I wanted a
bouquet."

"Very kind of him. I wonder he did not bring it himself. He rarely
misses an excuse for coming."

"Why do you say that, Nelly? He comes here very seldom, except on
Sunday; and that is a regular thing, just as your coming is."

"He was here on Tuesday; you saw him at Mrs. Saunders's on Wednesday; he
was at your at-home on Thursday; and he sends a bouquet on Saturday."

"I cannot help meeting him out; and not to invite him to my at-home
would be to cut him. Pray are you growing spiteful, like Mrs. Leith
Fairfax?"

"Marian: you got out of bed at the wrong side this morning; and you have
made that mi