Ethel Hardinge, after a few brisk preliminaries as to the disadvantages of being motherless, sought candidly to advise Lily.
"There's nothing like first love," said Ethel in a hearty sort of way. "They say nobody marries their first love, but I did, and no two people could be happier than we are, of that I'm certain."
"Then it does last?" said Lily tentatively.
"Being in love? Well, no, dear, not in the same way, of course. One must look at these things sensibly, and yet at the same time without being foolish," said Mrs. Hardinge with clarity. "I'm speaking to you as I should speak to one of my own girlies. You mustn't expect to remain in love for ever and ever."
Lily felt that Cousin Ethel was taking too much for granted.
"But Cousin Ethel, I don't know that I am in love at all, yet."
"Oh! Well, of course, dear—just hand me the white cotton, dear—Sylvia is so hard on her knickers, always——But you do like him very much?"
"Yes, very much."
"He certainly is charming—so utterly unlike most clever people. He's a good deal older than you are—perhaps that's what you're thinking of? Dorothy never looks at them if they're over twenty-five, but then you and she are very different."
"Yes," said Lily dejectedly.