‘He is assuredly very good to Rhoda. She is having a most unconventional bringing-up. Latin and Italian with Signor Oriole, some everyday grammar and geography and arithmetic with Mr. Howard, our old curate here. She gets some music lessons now and then. It is not her strong point. My brother teaches her something--a kind of social science, I think--and I----’ ‘And you?’ asked Fulvia, with a smile. Minna laughed. ‘My department may perhaps be that which in the well-known dame’s school was called, “Manners, twopence extra.”’ ‘Rather more than manners, I think,’ said Fulvia, ‘if it is anything like what you did for me in Rome, so long ago.’ ‘Don’t say I did it. I did what I could to comfort you, that was all. The root of the matter was in yourself, for it was only a short time that we were together. One could not tell then whether you were weak or strong. It seems strong.’ ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Fulvia carelessly. ‘A great deal, I suppose, depends on one’s circumstances. Perhaps if I had been exposed to poverty and struggle, and disappointments of that kind, I might not have been so ‘strong’ as you call it. Some natures are strong in one way, some in another. The fact is,’ she went on, looking at Minna with the same open, candid smile, ‘I was not born for poverty, Mrs. Hastings, nor for obscurity. I don’t say it boastfully, but because I know it to be absolutely true. My mother knew my nature better than I did myself when she arranged my marriage.’ ‘Fulvia!’ ‘Well?’ said Fulvia, looking calmly at her. ‘You look appalled, amazed. What I say is perfectly true. I found it out--well, very soon after I was married; at the same time, in the same moment, I may say, as that in which I began to value my diamonds.’ ‘No,’ said Minna in a tone of pain, ‘you do not think so. You are saying it just for--for----’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Ebbene! For what?’ asked Fulvia tranquilly. ‘Do you not like me to say it?’ ‘I hate you to say it.’ ‘What would you prefer me to say? That I have been and am a miserable woman? That I was crushed by my lot? That I had not the power to meet my circumstances, and with a strong hand to control them, instead of letting them control me? That is the only other thing that I could say. And yet you have just been praising me for being strong, a kind of praise which, I flatter myself, I deserve to a certain extent.’ Again Minna was silent. Had she spoken the truth, given utterance to the feeling that was in her heart, deep down, she would have said: ‘Yes, I had rather in truth have heard that your bravery and strength were employed to conceal the saddest of hearts, than that you had no sadness to conceal. I would rather you had been sad to the last day of your life than that your conquering strength had crushed, not only your adverse circumstance, but your highest and best self, your soul, your heart. For that is what it comes to when you say you are satisfied. I do not wish you to be satisfied with this.’