“To be sure, Mother. Hoping for the best is far better than looking for the worst.”
“I should think it was. Do you believe Piers will be in London at Christmas?”
“I fear not. Mother, he is going to send us each a ring at Christmas; then we will forget the other ring–shall we not?”
“I don’t know, Kitty. I think a deal of that other ring. No new one can make up for it. Why, my dear, your father gave it to me the night I promised to marry him. We were standing under the big white hawthorn at Belward. I’ll never forget that hour.”
“It is so long ago, Mother–you cannot care very much now about it.”
“Now, Kitty, if you think only young people can be in love, get that idea out of your mind at once. You don’t know anything about love yet. After twenty-five years bearing, and forbearing, and childbearing, you will smile at your gentle-shepherding of to-day. Your love is only a fancy now, it will be a fact then that has its foundations in your very life. You do not love Piers Exham, child, as I love your father. You can’t. It isn’t to be expected. And it is a good thing, love is so ordered; for if it did not grow stronger, instead of weaker, marrying would be a poor way of living.”
“That weary ring! I am so sorry that I ever put it on.”
“I did not ask you to put it on, Kitty. I did not want you to put it on.”
“Mother, please don’t be cross.”
“Kitty, don’t be unjust; it is not like you.”