"I tell you, Adrian, he will marry that woman."

"My dear aunt! Can a chaste man do aught more commendable?"

"Has the boy no object we can induce him to follow?--If he had but a
profession!"

"What say you to the regeneration of the streets of London, and the
profession of moral-scavenger, aunt? I assure you I have served a
month's apprenticeship with him. We sally forth on the tenth hour of the
night. A female passes. I hear him groan. 'Is she one of them,
Adrian?' I am compelled to admit she is not the saint he deems it the
portion of every creature wearing petticoats to be. Another groan; an
evident internal, 'It cannot be--and yet!'...that we hear on the stage.
Rollings of eyes: impious questionings of the Creator of the universe;
savage mutterings against brutal males; and then we meet a second young
person, and repeat the performance--of which I am rather tired. It would
be all very well, but he turns upon me, and lectures me because I don't
hire a house, and furnish it for all the women one meets to live in in
purity. Now that's too much to ask of a quiet man. Master Thompson has
latterly relieved me, I'm happy to say."

Mrs. Doria thought her thoughts.

"Has Austin written to you since you were in town?"

"Not an Aphorism!" returned Adrian.

"I must see Richard to-morrow morning," Mrs. Doria ended the colloquy by
saying.