nearly run, the country is sick of it, and those who put it into power have not got enough out of it.  A dissolution is therefore an event of the near future; the Conservatives will come in, but they have no power of organization, and very little political talent at their backs, above all, they are deficient in energy, probably because there is nothing that they can destroy and therefore no pickings to struggle for.  In short, they are not ‘capaces imperii.’  The want of these qualities and of leaders will very soon undermine their hold upon the country, always a slight one, and, assisted by a few other pushing men, I anticipate, by carefully playing into the hands of the Irish party which will really rule England in the future, being able, as one of the leaders of the Opposition, to consummate their downfall.  Then will come my opportunity, and, if luck goes with me, I shall be first Lord of the Treasury within half a dozen years.  But now comes the difficulty.  Though I am so popular with the country, I am, for some reason quite inexplicable to myself, rather at a—­hum—­a discount amongst my colleagues and that influential section of society to which they belong.  Now, in order to succeed to the full extent that I have planned, it is absolutely essential that I should win the countenance of this class, and the only way that I can see of doing it is by marrying some woman charming enough to disarm dislike, beautiful enough to command admiration, rich enough to entertain profusely, and clever enough to rule England.  Those desiderata are all to a striking degree united in your person, Mrs. Carr, and I have therefore much pleasure in asking you to become my wife.”

“You have, as I understand you, Lord Minster, made a very admirable statement of how desirable it is for yourself that you should marry me, but it is not so clear what advantage I should reap by marrying you.”

“Why, the advantages are obvious:  if by your help I can become Prime Minister, you would become the wife of the Prime Minister.”

“The prospect fails to dazzle me.  I have everything that I want; why should I strive to reach a grandeur to which I was not born, and which, to speak the truth, I regard with a very complete indifference?  But there is another point.  In all your speech you have said nothing of any affection that you have to offer, not a single word of love—­ you have been content to expatiate on the profits that a matrimonial investment would bring to yourself, and by reflection, to the other contracting party.”

“Love,” asked Lord Minster, with an expression of genuine surprise; “why, you talk like a character in a novel; now tell me, Mrs. Carr, what is love?”

“It is difficult to define, Lord Minster; but as you ask me to do so, I will try.  Love to a woman is what the sun is to the world, it is her life, her animating principle, without which she must droop, and, if the plant be very tender, die.  Except under its influence, a woman can never attain her full growth, never touch the height of her possibilities, or bloom into the plenitude of her moral beauty.  A loveless marriage dwarfs our natures, a marriage where love is develops them to their utmost.”