'Well, now,' said Whelpdale, 'I have never upheld the theory--at least not since I was sixteen--that a man can be in love only once, or that there is one particular woman if he misses whom he can never be happy. There may be thousands of women whom I could love with equal sincerity.'
'I object to the word "love" altogether. It has been vulgarised.
Let us talk about compatibility. Now, I should say that, no doubt, and speaking scientifically, there is one particular woman supremely fitted to each man. I put aside consideration of circumstances; we know that circumstances will disturb any degree of abstract fitness. But in the nature of things there must be one woman whose nature is specially well adapted to harmonise with mine, or with yours. If there were any means of discovering this woman in each case, then I have no doubt it would be worth a man's utmost effort to do so, and any amount of erotic jubilation would be reasonable when the discovery was made. But the thing is impossible, and, what's more, we know what ridiculous fallibility people display when they imagine they have found the best substitute for that indiscoverable. This is what makes me impatient with sentimental talk about marriage. An educated man mustn't play so into the hands of ironic destiny. Let him think he wants to marry a woman; but don't let him exaggerate his feelings or idealise their nature.'
'There's a good deal in all that,' admitted Whelpdale, though discontentedly.
'There's more than a good deal; there's the last word on the subject. The days of romantic love are gone by. The scientific spirit has put an end to that kind of self-deception. Romantic love was inextricably blended with all sorts of superstitions--belief in personal immortality, in superior beings, in--all the rest of it. What we think of now is moral and intellectual and physical compatibility; I mean, if we are reasonable people.'
'And if we are not so unfortunate as to fall in love with an incompatible,' added Whelpdale, laughing.
'Well, that is a form of unreason--a blind desire which science could explain in each case. I rejoice that I am not subject to that form of epilepsy.'
'You positively never were in love!'
'As you understand it, never. But I have felt a very distinct preference.'
'Based on what you think compatibility?'
'Yes. Not strong enough to make me lose sight of prudence and advantage. No, not strong enough for that.'
He seemed to be reassuring himself.
'Then of course that can't be called love,' said Whelpdale.
'Perhaps not. But, as I told you, a preference of this kind can be heightened into emotion, if one chooses. In the case of which I am thinking it easily might be. And I think it very improbable indeed that I should repent it if anything led me to indulge such an impulse.'
Whelpdale smiled.
'This is very interesting. I hope it may lead to something.'
'I don't think it will. I am far more likely to marry some woman for whom I have no preference, but who can serve me materially.'
'I confess that amazes me. I know the value of money as well as you do, but I wouldn't marry a rich woman for whom I had no preference. By Jove, no!'
'Yes, yes. You are a consistent sentimentalist.'
'Doomed to perpetual disappointment,' said the other, looking disconsolately about the room.
'Courage, my boy! I have every hope that I shall see you marry and repent.'
'I admit the danger of that. But shall I tell you something Ihave observed? Each woman I fall in love with is of a higher type than the one before.'
Jasper roared irreverently, and his companion looked hurt.
'But I am perfectly serious, I assure you. To go back only three or four years. There was the daughter of my landlady in Barham Street; well, a nice girl enough, but limited, decidedly limited.
Next came that girl at the stationer's--you remember? She was distinctly an advance, both in mind and person. Then there was Miss Embleton; yes, I think she made again an advance. She had been at Bedford College, you know, and was really a girl of considerable attainments; morally, admirable. Afterwards--'
He paused.
'The maiden from Birmingham, wasn't it?' said Jasper, again exploding.
'Yes, it was. Well, I can't be quite sure. But in many respects that girl was my ideal; she really was.'
'As you once or twice told me at the time.'
'I really believe she would rank above Miss Embleton--at all events from my point of view. And that's everything, you know.
It's the effect a woman produces on one that has to be considered.'
'The next should be a paragon,' said Jasper.
'The next?'
Whelpdale again looked about the room, but added nothing, and fell into a long silence.
When left to himself Jasper walked about a little, then sat down at his writing-table, for he felt easier in mind, and fancied that he might still do a couple of hours' work before going to bed. He did in fact write half-a-dozen lines, but with the effort came back his former mood. Very soon the pen dropped, and he was once more in the throes of anxious mental debate.
He sat till after midnight, and when he went to his bedroom it was with a lingering step, which proved him still a prey to indecision.
