"Now I understand you. Do you think"—Irene added in another tone—"that it's well to be what they call in love with the man one marries?"
"Think? Of course I do!"
"Many people doubt it. We are told that French marriages are often happier than English, because they are arranged with a practical view, by experienced people."
"It depends," replied Olga, with a half-disdainful smile, "what one calls happiness. I, for one, don't want a respectable, plodding, money-saving married life. I'm not fit for it. Of course some people are."
"Then, you could never bring yourself to marry a man you merely liked—in a friendly way?"
"I think it horrible, hideous!" was the excited reply. "And yet"—her voice dropped—"it may not be so for some women. I judge only by myself."
"I suspect, Olga, that some people are never in love—never could be in that state."
"I daresay, poor things!"
Irene, though much in earnest, was moved to laugh.
"After all, you know," she said, "they have less worry."