I'll give you a star...

Let's leave love to writers, poets, and moralists

A woman does not raise a man to the position she occupied before marriage but falls to his level. However, the man lifts the woman behind him, no matter how low she stood earlier.

("Etiquette of love, courtship, and marriage", 1847)

The starry night descended on the streets of London, the new moon shyly shone silver in the dark sky. And Clementine could not close her eyes, repeating the lines of the letter from Mr. Gill as if she remembered a prayer.

The words, written in calligraphic handwriting with flawless curls, formed a sincere confession. And the inexperienced girl's heart was already dreaming of being a student at King's College.

All her thoughts were about the young gentleman, forced to huddle in a small room. The courageous image formed itself, as if Irwin Gill was the hero of a women's novel, at the end of which, having passed all the trials and tribulations that fall to medical school students, he will become a skilled surgeon.

And only after midnight, did the girl forget herself in an anxious dream that lasted only a few hours, until the sun's rays confidently looked into the windows, helping the maid to wake up her mistress.

After waking up, Clementine, being in mental anguish, tried to take a pen and write a fiery answer, but the prolonged breakfast and the conversation with her mother that followed it cooled her impulse. And the letter of the medical school student lost its primary importance because it was that morning that the girl found out that she had found a worthy groom from a good and, most importantly, well-off family. And an important meeting will have to take place at the ball in honor of her twentieth birthday, that is, in a month.

Mrs. Crosby repeated in an edifying tone about the practicality of choosing a future spouse, while her daughter sat opposite, saving, slowly drinking tea, and indifferently listening to the upcoming acquaintance, which in the future could profitably change her status.

Although behind the girl's external calmness in the presence of her mother there was a storm of emotions: confusion and doubts, disappointment and fear. Feelings, like waves, rolled in during the surf. It seemed to Clementine that she had no choice but to accept her fate, cherishing the hope that the future groom would become a worthy husband and father.
But humility was replaced by outbursts of protest because novels have always described tender feelings between a man and a woman who have mutual respect and reverent attitude towards each other. And in life, as it turned out, the choice of a couple by parents was not discussed, although it did not sound categorical.

Clementine left the dining room upset after a prolonged moralizing conversation. Her first desire was to run to her room and, yielding to the confusion of feelings, cry out the fears and anxieties that had piled up this morning.

But Clementine, shut up in the living room, played the piano for several hours, attracted by the sad melody of her heart. Her slender fingers slid over the black and white keys, creating magical music of sadness of the lost joy of love.

Lunch that day passed in the same minor mood as the subsequent walk with Charlotte. On that day, everything seemed gray and dull, although the bright summer sun was still shining. The weather was warm and inspiring for long pleasant walks.

The Thames Embankment was crowded and noisy. Passing barges glided through the murky waters, fishermen on their small boats praised the fresh catch. Merchants were bustling, trying to attract with bright fabrics. The sounds of the living city filled the silence in Clementine's heart but found no response.

The friends hardly discussed anything, only exchanged short phrases about the recently read new novel by Jane Austen. But even here the conversation did not go well.