‘No,’ said Sophy, ‘I can’t understand how people can marry without loving. How miserable they must be!’ ‘On the contrary, my dear, especially if one continued to live with one’s mother. It is far better to earn the friendship and esteem of a husband than to see his love grow cold.’ ‘And was your sister happy?’ asked Sophy, abruptly. ‘Ah, my dear, never were husband and wife more attached. My brother-in-law joined the army of the Prince de Conde, and never was seen after the day of Valmy; and my sister pined away and died of grief. My daughter and granddaughter go to the Catholic burying-ground at Hadminster on her fete day, to dress her grave with immortelles.’ Now Sophy knew why the strip of garden grew so many of the grey-leaved, woolly-stemmed, little yellow-and-white everlasting flowers. Good madame began to regret having saddened her on this day of joy. ‘Oh! no,’ said Sophy, ‘I like sad things best.’ ‘Mais, non, my child, that is not the way to go through life,’ said the old lady, affectionately. ‘Look at me; how could I have lived had I not always turned to the bright side? Do not think of sorrow, it, is always near enough.’ This conversation had made an impression on Sophy, who took the first opportunity of expressing her indignation at the system of mariages de convenance. ‘And, mamma, she said if people began with love, it always grew cold. Now, has not papa loved you better and better every day?’ Albinia could not be displeased, though it made her blush, and she could not answer such a home push. ‘We don’t quite mean the same things,’ she said evasively. ‘Madame is thinking of passion independent of esteem or confidence. But, Sophy, this is enough even for a wedding-day. Let us leave it off with our finery, and resume daily life.’ ‘Only tell me one thing, mamma.’ ‘Well?’ She paused and brought it out with an effort. It had evidently occupied her for a long time. ‘Mamma, must not every one with feeling be in love once in their life?’ ‘Well done, reserve!’ thought Albinia--‘but she is only a child, after all; not a blush, only those great eyes seeming ready to devour my answer. What ought it to be? Whatever it is, she will brood on it till her time comes. I must begin, or I shall grow nervous: “Dear Sophy, these are not things good to think upon. There is quite enough to occupy a Christian woman’s heart and soul without that--no need for her feelings to shrivel up for want of exercise. No, I don’t believe in the passion once in the life being a fate, and pray don’t you, my Sophy, or you may make yourself very silly, or very unhappy, or both.”’ Sophy drew up her head, and her brown skin glowed. Albinia feared that she had said the wrong thing, and affronted her, but it was all working in the dark.