<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， 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， 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， since a man in my position can always find a mis-<br />
tress; but the void elsewhere is less easy to fill， and I had begun to<br />
despair of ever finding a woman who would do more than spend my<br />
money， 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， and， besides， I had too much pride and good sense to<br />
</p>
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