Coming out of church, Dr. Walsingham asked Mervyn to take a turn with him in the park--and so they did--and the doctor talked with him seriously and kindly on that broad plateau. The young man walked darkly beside him, and they often stopped outright. When, on their return, they came near the Chapelizod gate, and Parson's lodge, and the duck-pond, the doctor was telling him that marriage is an affair of the heart--also a spiritual union--and, moreover, a mercantile partnership--and he insisted much upon this latter view--and told him what and how strict was the practice of the ancient Jews, the people of God, upon this particular point. Dr. Walsingham had made a love-match, was the most imprudent and open-handed of men, and always preaching to others against his own besetting sin. To hear him talk, indeed, you would have supposed he was a usurer. Then Mr. Mervyn, who looked a little pale and excited, turned the doctor about, and they made another little circuit, while he entered somewhat into his affairs and prospects, and told him something about an appointment in connexion with the Embassy at Paris, and said he would ask him to read some letters about it; and the doctor seemed a little shaken; and so they parted in a very friendly but grave way. When Mervyn had turned his back upon Belmont, on the occasion of the unpleasant little visit I mentioned just now, the ladies had some words in the drawing-room. 'I have _not_ coquetted, Madam,' said Miss Gertrude, haughtily. 'Then I'm to presume you've been serious; and I take the liberty to ask how far this affair has proceeded?' said Aunt Rebecca, firmly, and laying her gloved hand and folded fan calmly on the table. 'I really forget,' said the young lady, coldly. 'Has he made a declaration of love?' demanded the aunt, the two red spots on her cheeks coming out steadily, and helping the flash of her eyes. 'Certainly not,' answered the young lady, with a stare of haughty surprise that was quite unaffected.