<p>There were two subjects I never discussed: my dead wife and Cashel-<br />

mara. So when I first met a woman with whom I could discuss both<br />

subjects with ease&iuml;&frac14;&OElig; it was hardly surprising that I should once again<br />

flirt with the idea of marriage.<br />

I had been a widower for eight years by the time I visited America<br />

in the spring of 1859. My friends had long since convinced them-<br />

selves that I was wedded to my wife s memory&iuml;&frac14;&OElig; but none of my<br />

friends ever seemed to consider that even the most cherished memory<br />

does have certain shortcomings. One cannot conduct a stimulating<br />

conversation with a memory; one cannot take it to the theater or to<br />

the.country or to bed. The void in the bedchamber is the least of<br />

one s problems&iuml;&frac14;&OElig; since a man in my position can always find a mis-<br />

tress; but the void elsewhere is less easy to fill&iuml;&frac14;&OElig; and I had begun to<br />

despair of ever finding a woman who would do more than spend my<br />

money&iuml;&frac14;&OElig; flaunt my title and bore me to death.<br />

Naturally I had no wish to fall in love. At my time of life a man<br />

makes himself a laughingstock if he succumbs to some ludicrous<br />

infatuation&iuml;&frac14;&OElig; and&iuml;&frac14;&OElig; besides&iuml;&frac14;&OElig; I had too much pride and good sense to<br />

</p>