ough
matrimony itself were improper, and as if they believed that little
babies were found about in the hedges and ditches. They talk of women
being forward! There are some of them a deal too backward, according
to my way of thinking."

"Yours is a comfortable doctrine, aunt."

"That's just what I want it to be. I want things to be comfortable.
Why shouldn't things be nice about one when one's got the means?
Nobody can say it's a pleasant thing to live alone. I always thought
that man in the song hit it off properly. You remember what he says?
'The poker and tongs to each other belongs.' So they do, and that
should be the way with men and women."

"But the poker and tongs have but a bad life of it sometimes."

"Not so often as the people say, my dear. Men and women ain't like
lumps of sugar. They don't melt because the water is sometimes warm.
Now, if I do take Bellfield,--and I really think I shall; but if I
do he'll give me a deal of trouble. I know he will. He'll always
be wanting my money, and, of course, he'll get more than he ought.
I'm not a Solomon, nor yet a Queen of Sheba, no more than anybody
else. And he'll smoke too many cigars, and perhaps drink more
brandy-and-water than he ought. And he'll be making eyes, too, at
some of the girls who'll be fools enough to let him."

"Dear me, aunt, if I thought all that ill of him, I'm sure I wouldn't
marry him;--especially as you say you don't love him."

"As for love, my dear, that's gone,--clear gone!" Whereupon Mrs
Greenow put up her handkerchief to her eyes. "Some women can love
twice, but I am not one of them. I wish I could,--I wish I could!"
These last words were spoken in a tone of solemn regret, which,
however, she contrived to change as quickly as she had adopted it.
"But my dear, marriage is a comfortable thing. And then, though
the Captain may be a little free, I don't doubt but what I shall
get the upper hand with him at last. I shan't stop his cigars and
brandy-and-water you know. Why shouldn't a man smoke and have a
glass, if he don't make a beast of himself? I like to see a man enjoy
himself. And then," she added, speaking tenderly of her absent lover,
"I do think he's fond of me,--I do, indeed."

"So is Mr Cheesacre for the matter of that."

"Poor Cheesy! I believe he was, though he did talk so much about
money. I always like to believe the best I can of them. But then
there was no poetry about Cheesy. I don't care about saying it now,
as yo