“Of course he did love you, but you should not expect him to go into transports every five minutes. It is foolish to expect that, after marriage, and I think very bad taste to desire it. If you had a child to occupy your attention, you would think less of continual demonstration on the part of your husband.” Clara shrank lower into the folds of her shawl. She was tired of the mention of this impossible baby. “I am sure I would rather have my husband’s love than a thousand babies.” “A thousand! Very likely.” “Well, one then. I am glad that I found out his indifference before any such event happened; but Albert says I shall never have any children because I am too nervous.” “Does he? Well, I am sure that is very unkind indeed, when you have been married so short a time. He had no right to say such a cruel thing.” Clara wondered that her mother should give this such prominence. _She_ had been wounded by it, because of Albert’s coldness; otherwise it would not have affected her, for it could not sound like a reproach. Mrs. Forest did not seem to comprehend the distinction. She urged Clara, by all the eloquence and argument in her power, to make up the quarrel with her husband. She urged her to consider the disgrace of her step, the wealth and standing of the Delanos, and the social advantages of such an alliance. This failed to move Clara, for she had not a particle of social ambition. Wealth sufficient to secure a pleasant home, with books and flowers and ordinary luxuries, was all she wanted for herself personally; but had misfortune deprived her of these, she would have met it without a murmur, and worked night and day to make the deprivations less hard for Albert to bear. This she expressed to her mother. “Of course, any good wife would do that; but how much better,” said Mrs. Forest, “to have wealth and the position that insures your reception in the highest society.” “The highest society, mother dear, I hold to be that of people of thought and solid culture, and these are always approachable without being heralded by the _fanfari_ of wealth and social position.” “I presume you even regret the wealth of your husband, and dream of love in a cottage,” said Mrs. Forest, with ill humor. “How you do misunderstand me, mother dear,” said Clara, wearily. “When I express the thoughts and convictions dearest and most sacred to me, you take no notice of them. It was always so with Albert; but I would not have asked even that he should understand me, if he had not grown so cold. And then his persistent solicitude about Ella, his delight in her conversation, which was like the chattering of a monkey, compared to that of any serious person—” “You mean, compared to yours.” “Why, yes: what is the use of sham modesty in the presence of the truth? She was _not_ my equal in anything. If she had been, I should wonder less at his infatuation.” Here Mrs. Forest questioned Clara, and extracted the Dover affair.