"I'm sure I don't understand you, Mr. Baskerville."
"No need—no need. That's only to say you're like the rest. They wonder how 'tis they don't understand me—fools that they are!—and yet how many understand themselves? I'll tell you this: you're not the right wife for Mark."
"Then I won't marry him. There's quite as good as him, and better, for that matter."
"Plenty. Take young Waite from Coldstone Farm, for instance. A strong man he is. My son Mark is a weak man—a gentle character he hath. 'Tis the strong men—they that want things—that alter the face of the world, and make history, and help the breed—not such as Mark. He'd spoil you and bring out all the very worst of you. Such a man as Waite would do different. He'd not stand your airs and graces, and little silly whims and fancies. He'd break you in; he'd tame you; and you'd look back afterwards and thank God you fell to a strong man and not a weak one."
"Women marry for love, not for taming," she said.
"Some, perhaps, but not you. You ban't built to love, if you want to know the whole truth," he answered calmly. "You belong to a sort of woman who takes all and gives nought. I wish I could ope your eyes to yourself, but I suppose that's beyond human power. But this I'll say: I wish you nothing but good; and the best good of all for such a one as you is to get a glimpse of yourself through a sensible and not unkindly pair of eyes. If you are going to marry Mark, and want to be a happy woman and wish him to be a happy man, you must think of a lot of things beside your wedding frock."
"For two pins I wouldn't marry him at all after this," she said. "You'd break any girl's heart, speaking so straight and coarse to her. I ban't accustomed to be talked to so cruel, and I won't stand it."
"I do beg you to think again," he said, stopping his pony. "I'm only telling you what I've often told myself. I'm always open to hear sense from any man, save now and again when I find myself in a black mood and won't hear anything. But you—a green girl as haven't seen one glimpse of the grey side yet—why, 'tis frank foolishness to refuse good advice from an old man."
"You don't want to give me good advice," she answered, and her face was red and her voice high; "you only want to make me think small things of myself, and despise myself, and to choke me off Mark."
"To choke you off Mark might be the best advice anybody could give you, for that matter, my dear; and as to your thinking small things of yourself—no such luck I see. You'll go on thinking a lot of your little, empty self till you stop thinking for good and all. Life ban't going to teach you anything worth knowing, because you've stuffed up your ears with self-conceit and vanity. So go your way; but if you get a grain of sense come back to me, and I shall be very glad to hear about it."