"You shall not be deceived in me,"--she said, pausing a moment and eyeing me sombrely--"If you marry me, you must do so with a full realization of the choice you make. For with such wealth as yours, you can of course wed any woman you fancy. I do not say you could find a girl better than I am; I do not think you could in _my_ 'set,' because we are all alike,--all tarred with the same brush, and filled with the same merely sensual and materialistic views of life and its responsibilities as the admired heroines of the 'society' novels we read. Away in the provinces, among the middle classes it is possible you might discover a really good girl of the purest blush-rose innocence,--but then you might also find her stupid and unentertaining, and you would not care for that. My chief recommendation is that I am beautiful,--you can see that; everybody can see that,--and I am not so affected as to pretend to be unconscious of the fact. There is no sham about my external appearance; my hair is not a wig,--my complexion is natural,--my figure is not the result of the corset-maker's art,--my eyebrows and eyelashes are undyed. Oh yes,--you can be sure that the beauty of my body is quite genuine!--but it is not the outward expression of an equally beautiful soul. And this is what I want you to understand. I am passionate, resentful, impetuous,--frequently unsympathetic, and inclined to morbidness and melancholy, and I confess I have imbibed, consciously or unconsciously, that complete contempt of life and disbelief in a God, which is the chief theme of nearly all the social teachings of the time." She ceased,--and I gazed at her with an odd sense of mingled worship and disillusion, even as a barbarian might gaze at an idol whom he still loved, but whom he could no longer believe in as divine. Yet what she said was in no way contrary to my own theories,--how then could I complain? I did not believe in a God; why should I inconsistently feel regret that she shared my unbelief? I had involuntarily clung to the old-fashioned idea that religious faith was a sacred duty in womanhood; I was not able to offer any reason for this notion, unless it was the romantic fancy of having a good woman to pray for one, if one had no time and less inclination to pray for one's self. However, it was evident Sibyl was 'advanced' enough to do without superstitious observances; _she_ would never pray for me;--and if we had children, she would never teach them to make their first tender appeals to Heaven for my sake or hers. I smothered a slight sigh, and was about to speak, when she came up to me and laid her two hands on my shoulders. "You look unhappy, Geoffrey,"--she said in gentler accents--"Be consoled!--it is not too late for you to change your mind!" I met the questioning glance of her eyes,--beautiful, lustrous eyes as clear and pure as light itself.