"I know a great many excellent people who reason
against plain experience in the same way--who read the newspapers in the
morning, and deny in the evening that there is any romance for writers
or painters to work upon in modern life. Seriously, Mrs. Vanstone, you
may take my word for it--thanks to those wretched theatricals, Magdalen
is going the way with Frank that a great many young ladies have gone
before her. He is quite unworthy of her; he is, in almost every respect,
her exact opposite--and, without knowing it herself, she has fallen
in love with him on that very account. She is resolute and impetuous,
clever and domineering; she is not one of those model women who want a
man to look up to, and to protect them--her beau-ideal (though she may
not think it herself) is a man she can henpeck. Well! one comfort is,
there are far better men, even of that sort, to be had than Frank. It's
a mercy he is going away, before we have more trouble with them, and
before any serious mischief is done."
"Poor Frank!" said Mrs. Vanstone, smiling compassionately. "We have
known him since he was in jackets, and Magdalen in short frocks. Don't
let us give him up yet.
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