waltz less ceremoniously than these Colymbians treat the partners of their domestic joys and sorrows. They marry as we try on boots in a ready-made shop. If one does not fit another may, and so they try a succession of conjugal partners, until at last they get themselves well mated.
A man or a woman who was constantly changing was considered by his or her friends as hard to please, but no one thought of attaching blame to conduct which would be deemed outrageous in my own country.
While I was cogitating over these matters and endeavouring to reconcile myself to my loss, by the reflection that perhaps Lily would have found me too unsuitable after a short trial, I received a visit from an intelligent young professor of transcendental geography of my acquaintance, with whom I was on such intimate terms that we used to be constantly popping in on one another to have a friendly chat. To him I mentioned my disappointment in the matter of Lily.
"Oh, console yourself," he said, with a smile, "there are as good fish—I mean girls—in the sea as ever came out of it. I fear I do not make a very happy adaptation of your proverb to the circumstances of our life, but you understand what I mean: you may marry any other girl you please here—almost."
"But I shall never care about marrying any other, now I have lost Lily."
"You astonish me," he replied; "there are hundreds as good-looking and as accomplished as she."
"Doubtless," I answered, "but I can only love her."
"Love!" he repeated, with an incredulous smile (for which I hated him), "how can you love a girl until you know how she will suit you morally? We
