He had seen what becomes of the man who is always dining out at sixty.

But he might avoid that.

"Doan't thou marry for munny, but goa where munny is." And then there was that other outlook, the scene of which was laid somewhere north of Oxford Street, and the glory of which consisted in Lucy's smile, and Lucy's hand, and Lucy's kiss, as he returned home weary from his work.
There are many men, and some women, who pass their lives without knowing what it is to be or to have been in love.

They not improbably marry,--the men do, at least,--and make good average husbands.

Their wives are useful to them, and they learn to feel that a woman, being a wife, is entitled to all the respect, protection, and honour which a man can give, or procure for her.