Ophelia, in the quiet simplicity of her nature, accepted Hamlet’s love without question; but Laertes, with his larger experience of the world, was by no means confident that Hamlet intended anything serious, and on the eve of his departure for France he warned his sister not to place too much reliance on the young Prince’s favour. He bade her think of it as a fashion and a toy to amuse the passing hour--something sweet, but not lasting. “No more but so?” said Ophelia wistfully. “Think it no more,” counselled Laertes firmly. “Perhaps he loves you now, sincerely enough, but you must fear, weighing his greatness, his will is not his own; for he himself is subject to his birth. He may not, as unvalued persons do, choose for himself, for on his choice depends the safety and health of this whole State.” Then, sensibly enough, Laertes pointed out that even if Hamlet truly loved her, reasons of state might prevent his ever marrying her, and therefore he begged his sister to be careful about bestowing her love too unguardedly on the Prince. Poor Ophelia’s heart sank lower and lower at her brother’s words, but she meekly promised to remember his counsel. Then Polonius came in and gave some excellent parting words of advice to his son. “Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well what I have said to you,” said Laertes, as he took his leave. “What is it, Ophelia, he hath said to you?” asked Polonius. “So please you, something touching the lord Hamlet.” “Marry, well bethought,” said the old man; and then in his turn he proceeded to lecture his daughter on somewhat the same lines as Laertes had done. In reply to his questions, Ophelia told him that Hamlet had lately made her many offerings of affection, and spoken many words of love. But, like Laertes, Polonius would not believe that Hamlet intended them seriously, or, at any rate, he pretended to think it only a passing fancy of the Prince’s. He ordered his daughter, therefore, to be more chary in seeing Hamlet--in fact, to avoid him as much as possible. “I shall obey, my lord,” answered Ophelia dutifully. It never seemed to occur to her to question her father’s will. She could love faithfully, but she could not struggle against opposition. So when the tempest came, she bent her head before it, like a frail reed, and was swept resistlessly away. “Sweet Bells jangled, out of Tune and Harsh”