a moment in Society's position, and consider in
what light the question of a man's marriage is
necessarily regarded by his circle of acquaintance.
Let us suppose a case. Let us
suppose that Jones is a man who holds a good
position in the world, and is reasonably popular.
Society knows all about Jones, has examined
Jones from top to toe, and has decided that it can
stand him—he will do. Suddenly the rumour
goes forth that Jones is going to be married.
Society bridles up in a moment, is on the qui
vive directly, and justifiably enough, as you will
admit, if you will bear in mind what was said
just now on the subject of the "other half."
For what is this marriage of Jones from Society's
point of view? Jones, a nimble, presentable,
useful, and convenient creature, has gone away
for a little season, to return presently with
another human being belonging to him, part
and parcel of him, and inseparable from
him. Society knew half of Jones and approved.
The other half, which he has gone to fetch, it
does not know, and waits to examine with eager,
and somewhat critical curiosity. What will it
turn out to be like? Can anybody tell us?
Shall we be able to stand it? Is it also, like
the demi-Jones with whom we have been hitherto
acquainted, presentable, initiated: or is it a
clumsy and impracticable addition to our old
friend? Is it a better-half or a worse? The
half-Jones originally known to us was good.
Is the complete Jones to be a success or a
failure? This is how the matter stands when
Jones's other half is unknown to the world in
which Jones has hitherto lived.

But when, on the contrary, Jones's other half
is already perfectly well known to Jones's monde,
then indeed all things are different. Jones's
new half has already got its credentials,
it is as well known as Jones himself—better
known, more popular, more influential, perhaps.
Let them set up in the social business together
by all means, says the world. We liked Mr.
Demi-Jones and Miss Semi-Jones very well
separately, and we shall continue to countenance
them in a state of union.

Of course, sir, you perceive that in the
event of such a union taking place, my position
would be similar to that supposititious
one which I have last sketched. Miss Baskerville
is perfectly well known in the best society.
No explanations are necessary. The world
knows all about her already. Our start in life
would be a good one, our social position
impregnable.

And now, dear sir, when you said it seemed
probable to you that Miss Baskerville might be,
owing to her parentage and education, somewhat
disposed towards worldliness, are you sure that
you meant anything more than that she was a
young lady whose natural tendencies were such
as would fit her to take an exceedingly good
position in the world, and even to improve that
position as occasion served? That her bringing-up
had been of a kind to stimulate her natural
propensities in this way? I think this is
what you meant, and if so, I am, in the main,
disposed to agree with you, and moreover, let
me add, to congratulate myself on the probable
possession of one who is gifted with such
admirable and desirable tastes.

Yes, let me repeat it, "admirable and desirable
tastes." For you must know that what
you call worldliness, I call a reasonable
fitness for society. Let me explain this a little.
True to my principle of initiating you in the
social mysteries of the day, I would fain
enlighten you as to what is expected, in these
days, of a lady who enters the State of Matrimony
with the intention of fulfilling the social
duties it involves.

Such an one, my dear father, should be
ambitious, active, and persevering, and, above all
things, diligent and hard working. There must
be no indolent neglect of social duties. She
must not, for instance, shrink from making calls
even at seasons when the pastime is, as will
sometimes happen, irksome and unpalatable.
There must be no shirking, either, in the matter
of letter writing. Correspondence must be kept
up, or valuable and useful friends, at a distance,
may gradually be lost. Moreover, the married
lady who fulfils her social duties must be ready
to enter into any scheme set on foot by Society,
such as the getting up of a concert or a fancy
bazaar, with energy and diligence. These last
qualities are indeed of paramount importance,
and these are possessed by Alicia Baskerville
in a very eminent degree. And another
virtue which I beg leave to claim for her
at once, while I think of it, is a serene and
unruffled temper. For it is fashionable just now
to be not only diligent, but good tempered. All
sorts of scenes, all displays of angry feeling, or
touchiness, are not to be thought of. Wretched
"ton," everything of the sort. Well, you have
nothing to say against Miss Baskerville's temper,
I think? An admirable surface-calmness at any
rate, and that is the great thing after all.

I think it is also desirable, on the whole, just
now, to be good natured and easy, and to praise
people—especially some people—behind their
backs. If you are bitter and vituperative, it
looks as if you had been slighted, or subjected to
ignoble treatment, and it is never judicious—you
will do well to remember this yourself, dear
parent—to suggest that you have been
ignominiously dealt with by any one. It detracts
from one's social importance. Alicia is impregnable
in this matter, I am sure.

It is necessary that our model wife should
have the power at certain times, and when in
company with certain people, of making herself
very agreeable. She will not always want to
use this weapon, but she should have it by her.
There are, scattered about the social world, here
and there, some old ladies and gentlemen of
great influence and high position, but of uncertain
temper, who require to be dealt with
carefully at times, needing some small amount of
what shall I say—coaxing? to keep them in a
good state. My dear father, Alicia's tact with
people of this sort—the Dowager Lady Capsicum,
for instance, or Sir Charles Hotspur, with