‘I should like a political life,’ she said; ‘I should like a political salon very much. You see, anyone like me, young and strong, and with an active, inquiring mind’--she laughed a little--‘with a great deal of money and no children, is really in need of something to do with her time. There are several occupations and pastimes which such a woman may take to. I have thought of them all. She may go in for society and utter frivolity, or for being a _femme incomprise_, or for literature, or art, or mysterious fascination, which means lovers, or for politics. I have come to the conclusion that politics are the least risky, the most satisfying, and at the same time the most exciting of these pursuits. And I had just brought my husband round to my way of thinking. He had decided to settle in England, and look out for a constituency. Of course he would have had to buy it, but those things can generally be managed; we should have lived chiefly here, in London, and then--we should have seen. Just when it was decided, he was overtaken by this illness, and there is an end of it all.’ ‘Temporarily?’ hazarded Minna. ‘Altogether. We shall have to live in the country, and I dread it, I must say. I have got so accustomed to excitement, of one kind or another, that I shall be very badly off without it. I do not deceive myself as to our position--not in the least. In London, people like us may conquer and hold fast a certain kind of standing--if we do not mind how much money we spend. In the country--in the county, which, of course, is the only part of the country worth considering--it is quite different. More difficult, slower, more subject to mortifying ups and downs than in town. No, I dread the country. It will be a _vera seccatura_ to have to live there.’ Minna did not like the tone of all this. But she had nothing to say to it. It all looked as if her little Fulvia had been hardened into a woman of the world; and if so, what wonder? Perhaps it had not been in her nature to be elevated by such an experience. Perhaps it was better that she should have developed into this, than sunk into a lifeless, spiritless thing, without nerve to meet her life. Lunch over, Fulvia rose. ‘I shall have to drag you upstairs,’ she said. ‘The whole of the second-floor is given up to him, and I have my bedroom higher still. This way!’ Silently Minna followed her, and they mounted the stairs to the second-floor. Fulvia tapped at the door of a front-room. It was opened at once by a man-servant. ‘Is Mr. Marchmont ready to see us?’ asked Fulvia. ‘I sent him word I was bringing a friend.’ ‘Quite ready, madam. He has been expecting you,’ said the man, throwing open the door and announcing her.