'I do not doubt it,' said the Doctor; 'high as you may pitch your estimate you cannot overvalue her.'
'Then why should we not marry?'
'Because, my dear friend, although you may be perfectly acquainted with Venetia, you cannot be perfectly acquainted with yourself.'
'How so?' exclaimed Lord Cadurcis in a tone of surprise, perhaps a little indignant.
'Because it is impossible. No young man of eighteen ever possessed such precious knowledge. I esteem and admire you; I give you every credit for a good heart and a sound head; but it is impossible, at your time of life, that your character can be formed; and, until it be, you may marry Venetia and yet be a very miserable man.'
'It is formed,' said his lordship firmly; 'there is not a subject important to a human being on which my opinions are not settled.'
'You may live to change them all,' said the Doctor, 'and that very speedily.'
'Impossible!' said Lord Cadurcis. 'My dear Doctor, I cannot understand you; you say that you hope, that you wish, even that you believe that I shall marry Venetia; and yet you permit me to infer that our union will only make us miserable. What do you wish me to do?'
'Go to college for a term or two.'
'Without Venetia! I should die.'