“For what else _could_ I marry?” continued Caroline: “I, who am left by the kindest of parents freely to my own choice--could I marry for a house in Leicestershire? or for a barouche and four? on Lady Jane Granville’s principles for _an establishment_? or on the _missy_ notion of being married, and having a house of my own, and ordering my own dinner?--Was this your notion of me?” said Caroline, with a look of such surprise, that Rosamond was obliged to fall immediately to protestations, and appeals to common sense. “How was it possible she could have formed such ideas!” “Then why were you so much surprised and transported just now, when I told you that no motive but love could induce me to marry?” “I don’t recollect being surprised--I was only delighted. I never suspected that you could marry without love, but I thought that you and I might differ as to the quantity--the degree.” “No common degree of love, and no common love, would be sufficient to induce me to marry,” said Caroline. “Once, and but once, before in your life, you gave me the idea of your having such an exalted opinion of love,” replied Rosamond. “But to return to Mr. Barclay,” said Caroline. “I have, as I promised my father that I would, consulted in the first place my own heart, and considered my own happiness. He appears to me incapable of that enthusiasm which rises either to the moral or intellectual sublime. I respect his understanding, and esteem his principles; but in conversing with him, I always feel--and in passing my life with him, how much more should I feel!--that there is a want of the higher qualities of the mind. He shows no invention, no genius, no magnanimity--nothing heroic, nothing great, nothing which could waken sympathy, or excite that strong attachment, which I think that I am capable of feeling for a superior character--for a character at once good and great.” “And where upon earth are you to find such a man? Who is romantic now?” cried Rosamond. “But I am very glad that you _are_ a little romantic; I am glad that you have in you a touch of human absurdity, else how could you be my sister, or how could I love you as I do?” “I am heartily glad that you love me, but I am not sensible of my present immediate claim to your love by my touch of human absurdity,” said Caroline, smiling. “What did I say, that was absurd or romantic?” “My dear, people never think their own romance absurd. Well! granted that you are not romantic, since that is a point which I find I must grant before we can go on,--now, tell me, was Mr. Barclay very sorry when you refused him?” said Rosamond. “I dare not tell you that there is yet no danger of his breaking his heart,” said Caroline. “So I thought,” cried Rosamond, with a look of ineffable contempt. “I thought he was not a man to break his heart for love. With all his sense, I dare say he will go back to his Lady Angelica Headingham. I should not be surprised if he went after her to Weymouth to-morrow.”