it entirely to the young people. What do they know of life, of
themselves, even. He falls in love with a pretty face. She--he
danced so well! he was so agreeable that day of the picnic! If
marriage were only for a month or so; could be ended without harm
when the passion was burnt out. Ah, yes! then perhaps you would be
right. I loved at eighteen, madly--nearly broke my heart. I meet
him occasionally now. My dear"--her hair was silvery white, and I
was only thirty-five; she always called me "my dear"; it is pleasant
at thirty-five to be talked to as a child. "He was a perfect brute,
handsome he had been, yes, but all that was changed. He was as
stupid as an ox. I never see his poor frightened-looking wife
without shuddering thinking of what I have escaped. They told me all
that, but I looked only at his face, and did not believe them. They
forced me into marriage with the kindest man that ever lived. I did
not love him then, but I loved him for thirty years; was it not
better?"

"But, my dear friend," I answered; "that poor, frightened-looking
wife of your first love! Her marriage also was, I take it, the
result of parental choosing. The love marriage, I admit, as often as
not turns out sadly. The children choose ill. Parents also choose
ill. I fear there is no sure receipt for the happy marriage."

"You are arguing from bad examples," answered my silver-haired
friend; "it is the system that I am defending. A young girl is no
judge of character. She is easily deceived, is wishful to be
deceived. As I have said, she does not even know herself. She
imagines the mood of the moment will remain with her. Only those who
have watched over her with loving insight from her infancy know her
real temperament.