"Thou art out of my depth, Blanche, methinks," said Lysken, re-threading her needle in a practical unromantic way. "Love is love, for me. It differeth, of course, in degree; we love not all alike. But, methinks, even a man's love for God, though it be needs deeper and higher far, must yet be the same manner of love that he hath for his father, or his childre, or his friends. I see not how it can be otherwise." Blanche was shocked at the business-like style in which Lysken darned while she talked. Had such a question been asked of herself, the stocking would have stood still till it was settled. She doubted whether to pursue the subject. What was the use of talking upon thrilling topics to a girl who could darn stockings while she calmly analysed love? Still, she wanted somebody's opinion; and she had an instinctive suspicion that Clare would be no improvement upon her cousin. "Well, but," she said hesitatingly, "there is another fashion of love, Lysken. The sort that a woman hath toward her husband." "That is deeper, I guess, than she hath for her father and mother, else would she not leave them to go with him," said Lysken quietly; "but I see not wherein it should be another sort." "'Tis plain thou didst never feel the same, Lysken," returned Blanche sentimentally. "How could I, when I never had an husband?" answered Lysken, darning away tranquilly. "But didst thou never come across any that--that thou shouldst fain--" "Shouldst fain--what?" said Lysken, as Blanche paused. "Shouldst have liked to wed," said Blanche, plunging into the matter. "Gramercy, nay!" replied Lysken, turning the stocking to look at the other side. "And I should have thought shame if I had." Blanche felt this speech a reflection on herself. "Lysken!" she cried pettishly. Lysken put down the stocking, and looked at Blanche. "What meanest thou?" she inquired, in a plain matter-of-fact style which was extremely aggravating to that young lady. "Oh, 'tis to no good to tell thee," returned Blanche loftily. "Thou wist nought at all thereabout." "_What_ about?" demanded Lysken, to whom Blanche was unintelligible. "About nought. Let be!" "I cannot tell wherefore thou art vexed, Blanche," said Lysken, resuming her darning, in that calm style which is eminently provoking to any one in a passion. "Thou seest not every matter in the world," retorted Blanche, with an air of superiority. "And touching this matter, 'tis plain thou wist nothing. Verily, thou hast gain therein; for he that hath bettered knowledge--as saith Solomon--hath but increased sorrow." "Blanche, I do not know whereof thou art talking! Did I put thee out by saying I had thought shame to have cared to wed with any, or what was it? Why, wouldst not thou?"