'First and foremost, do you love Mr.Edgar ?' 'Who can help it?
Of course I do,' she answered.
Then I put her through the following catechism: for a girl of twenty-two it was not injudicious.
'Why do you love him, Miss Cathy ?' 'Nonsense, I do--that's sufficient.' 'By no means; you must say why ?' 'Well, because he is handsome, and pleasant to be with.' 'Bad!' was my commentary.
'And because he is young and cheerful.' 'Bad, still.' 'And because he loves me.' 'Indifferent, coming there.' 'And he will be rich, and I shall like to be the greatest woman of the neighbourhood, and I shall be proud of having such a husband.' 'Worst of all.

And now, say how you love him ?' 'As everybody loves--You're silly, Nelly.' 'Not at all--Answer.' 'I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches, and every word he says.

I love all his looks, and all his actions, and him entirely and altogether.

There now!' 'And why ?' 'Nay; you are making a jest of it: it is exceedingly ill-natured! It's no jest to me!' said the young lady, scowling, and turning her face to the fire.
'I'm very far from jesting, Miss Catherine,' I replied.

'You love Mr.
Edgar because he is handsome, and young, and cheerful, and rich, and loves you.