There were at least three. There was his brother’s sort: the kind where the couple liked each other from the start. There was the sort contracted by the rich and powerful, where the couple didn’t like each other—if they had even met— and probably never would, but the marriage cemented some form of political or financial alliance. Finally there was the sort where each found the other vaguely attractive—well, not unattractive—and where the families of both assured the candidates that they were eminently suited and it really was time that each of them married, so why not each other? After all, how long were they going to wait around being particular? Then they spent the next three years finding out that they didn’t like each other at all, and wondering how much longer they would have to wait for the development of—well, if not affection, at least mutual comprehension. Then, after yet another misunderstanding, the wife sent a long letter home detailing all the husband’s shortcomings.
