What man in his
senses would ever ask a woman who had been such an idiot as to refuse
five and twenty thousand a year?"
"I see, Doctor, you are quite a novice in the tender passion. Cannot you
make allowance for it: a young lady's not being in love?"
"In what?" demanded the Doctor.
"In love," repeated Lady Emily.
"Love! Bah--nonsense--no mortal in their senses ever thinks of such
stuff now."
"Then you think love and madness are one and the same thing, it seems?"
"I think the man or woman who could let their love stand in the way of
five and twenty thousand a year is the next thing to being mad," said
the Doctor warmly; "and in this case I can see no difference."
"But you'll allow there are some sorts of love that may be indulged
without casting any shade upon the understanding?"
"I really can't tell what your Ladyship means," said the Doctor
impatiently.
"I mean, for example, the love one may feel towards a turtle, such as we
had lately."
"That's quite a different thing," interrupted the Doctor.
"Pardon me, but whatever the consequence may be, the effects in both
cases were very similar, as exemplified in yourself. Pray, what
difference did it make to your friends, who were deprived of your
society, whether you spent your time in walking with 'even step, and
musing gait,' before your Dulcinea's window or the turtle's
cistern?--whether you were engrossed in composing a sonnet to your
mistress's eyebrow, or in contriving a new method of heightening the
enjoyments of _calipash?_ --whether you expatiated with greater rapture
on the charms of a white skin or green fat?--whether you were most
devoted to a languishing or a lively beauty?--whether----"
"'Pon my honour, Lady Emily, I really--I--I can't conceive what it is you
mean.
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