‘The way in which I look at the matter is this—marriage is a necessary evil, like measles and whooping-cough. One must marry, and perhaps by-and-by, when one is used to it, one may find it less disagreeable than it looks; but all that must chiefly depend upon whom one marries. Now, my feeling is that a known evil is much better than an unknown one—by an evil, you see, I mean a husband. As a rule, it seems to me almost impossible for a girl to know much about the man she marries. A good many men have been here lately, and they have been particularly attentive to me. They have all got beautifully brushed hair, charming little moustaches, spotless shirt-fronts, and exceedingly pretty manners; and they all say exactly the same sort of thing to me, and I say exactly the same sort of thing to them, and we are all as nicely-behaved as people can possibly be. Of course it would be absurd to suppose that we know one another a bit; but it wouldn’t be absurd, I suppose, for one of these model young men to make me an offer of marriage, or for me to accept him. That would be considered quite an ordinary and natural wind-up to an acquaintance of a few weeks. Now listen, Aunt Olive! Once at a picnic I overheard one of these nice young men swear like a trooper at his servant, because he had buckled a strap wrong in his horse’s harness. I suppose he would soon swear at his wife if he had one. Another young gentleman could not come up again to dance after supper because he was “so awfully screwed.” If I married him, perhaps he would soon get “screwed” before my face instead of behind my back. No doubt all the other young men have their nice little habits of speech and manner, which are so very engaging when suddenly discovered; and therefore I think I may well call them unknown evils, when I think of them as husbands. Now with Lewis it is different, for I do know him; I know him almost as well as I know myself. He is not very good-tempered, he is not very good-looking. His hair is not geometrically parted down the back of his head, nor brushed till it shines like a mirror. His clothes do not fit like a glove. He does not always wear a choice flower in his buttonhole. He does not try to imply by his words and looks that life, out of the sunlight of my presence, is little better than a howling wilderness, and then say the same to half the girls he dances with in one evening. But all the same, Lewis would put himself about a good deal to do anything for me; and when Lewis says a thing he means it. If I married Lewis, he would not abuse me, nor swear at me in private; nor would he get tipsy and humiliate me in public. I know all his good points and his bad ones; I know his moods, and his manner, and his habits. To marry Lewis would not be taking a leap in the dark; and therefore I call him a known evil, and as such, prefer him to the unknown.’