Let it be sincere; do not impose on a woman that leaves all things for you." No woman could be more sensible than was Lady Mary at this time, and she gave expression to the most exemplary sentiments.
"A woman that adds nothing to a man's fortune ought not to take from his happiness.

If possible I would add to it; but I will not take from you any satisfaction you could enjoy without me." "If we marry, our happiness must consist in loving one another: 'tis principally my concern to think of the most probable method of making the love eternal." "There is one article absolutely necessary--to be ever beloved, one must be ever agreeable." "Very few people that have settled entirely in the country but have grown at length weary of one another.

The lady's conversation generally falls into a thousand impertinent effects of idleness, and the gentleman falls _in_ love with his dogs and horses and _out_ of love with everything else." And so on.
Possibly if Lady Mary had had less brains and more passion, if she had not so calmly worked out the permutations and combinations of married life, the alliance might have been more successful.

She, with all her intelligence, did not seem to realise that matrimony is not an affair of rules and regulations, of aphorisms and epigrams, nor that the lines on which husband and wife shall conduct themselves to a happy ending can be settled by a study of vulgar fractions.
Anyhow, the plunge was at last taken--with some not unnatural trepidation on the part of the twenty-three-year-old bride.

On Friday night, August 15, 1712, she wrote to Montagu: "I tremble for what we are doing .-- Are you sure you will love me for ever?
Shall we never repent?
I fear and I hope.