The humble mouse has replaced Cupid’s quiver. Last year, more than 3.5 million single Britons used an online dating service to find romance. Instead of directing inquiries on comparative pulchritude to the mirror on the wall, 65 per cent of all those in search of a compatible mate turn now to the screen on the desk.

The internet’s reputation as a pander needs some burnishing. To most people, chat rooms mean chat-up rooms. But some of today’s internet chaperones are as strict at protecting the reputation of their matchmaking and the virtue of their charges — mostly female — as any Victorian matron. They begin with a catechism as searching as any of Lady Bracknell’s inquiries: likes, dislikes, values, beliefs, favourite films and horrible habits. No chatting is allowed unless the protocol is observed, the psychometric profile completed and often the fee — real, not virtual, cash — paid upfront. Then, with suitable caveats, the lonely questor on love’s tortuous path may be vouchsafed a personalised selection of three tantalising e-mail addresses. Pictures come later, though lookist sites — beautifulpeople.com or gorgeousnetwork.com — will post your portrait only if found attractive by a panting team of superficial selectors.

An online search has huge advan-tages. It is quick. It is open at any time in any place (even, surreptitiously, from the office). It carries none of the hangdog associations of the mournful dating agency or the drink-sodden sleaziness of the bar. And it can refine the field as narrowly as you wish: gardeners, Catholics, redheads, Chelsea fans or even steam enthusiasts. Thomas, meet Annie — or Clarabel.