"Now don't mix up love and romance, Lily. They have nothing whatever to do with one another. You girls never seem to realize that, and then of course you're disappointed. Being in love is one thing, and a very right and natural and charming thing—but you mustn't expect to stay in love all the days of your life."
"I suppose not," said Lily doubtfully.
She had not the moral courage to suppose anything else, imbued as she was with the theory that it was both her duty and to her advantage to accept her opinions ready-made from her seniors.
"I don't want to sound hard and cynical, dear," said Ethel, looking harassed and motherly. "Of course you're in love with Nicholas and he with you, and it's the very happiest and most idyllic time that you'll ever know. I only meant to put you a little bit on your guard—after all.... No mother, poor child!"
It came in almost like the refrain of a song.
"And even if—when the actual glamour of falling in love is over, then, you know, there's something very much better that takes its place."
"What, Cousin Ethel?"
"Oh, my dear child! Love—trust—confidence—all the little ups and downs you've been through together—even the little quarrels. It all helps to draw you more closely together. Charlie and I laugh together now sometimes, at all sorts of funny things that happened to us years ago. It all helps."
Helps—what did it help?
Lily would not ask any further, because of a strange, sick feeling that kept on invading her and to which nothing would have induced her to give the name of dismay.