Eleanor Burgoyne was but just thirty, very attractive, and his distant kinswoman.

As for himself, he knew very well that according to the general opinion of the world, beginning with his aunt, it was his duty to marry and marry soon.
He was in the prime of life; he had a property that cried out for an heir; and a rambling Georgian house that would be the better for a mistress.

He was tolerably sure that Aunt Pattie had already had glimpses of Eleanor Burgoyne in that position.
Well--if so, Aunt Pattie was less shrewd than usual.

Marriage! The notion of its fetters and burdens was no less odious to him now than it had been at twenty.

What did he want with a wife--still more, with a son?
The thought of his own life continued in another's filled him with a shock of repulsion.