“But why, daughter? Why? There is good in enthusiasm.”
“I don’t enthuse, mother, by temperament, also by character: I am made so. I have been made very badly,” the young woman declared, with an expression of bitterness.
“Haven’t you tried to change yourself?—to interest yourself deeply in something?—to like something keenly? Have you tried?”
“I have tried and failed.”
“Still you must have thought and felt that something in the world deserves all our heart?”
“Yes, mother, I have thought and felt it,” the daughter-in-law replied firmly.
“What, my daughter?”
“Love, mother,” she replied firmly.
“Love?” repeated Donna Arduina, surprised.
“Exactly, my mother. School stories, follies of youth. Old stories!”