“Hush,” said Diana, putting up a hand as if to close her friend’s mouth; “but tell me, who is this Mr. Pandolfini? Sophy does not seem able to talk of anything else. Poor child! has she come out here innocently to meet her fate?”
“Diana, don’t be so ridiculous about that child; you make me so angry. You do nothing but encourage her in every kind of nonsense——”
“Is love nonsense?—and marrying? I thought you were always preaching their advantages.”
“Ah, to you! that is a different thing altogether—except that there is no one half good enough for you. You! Yes, of course we shall all be too happy to see a Prince Consort.”
“There will never be a Prince Consort,” said Diana; “if you knew what it is to be free, after being under somebody’s orders all your life!”
“But a good husband does not give you orders; only men in novels, so far as I can see, call upon their wives to obey them in that melodramatic way. If Tom were to do it, I cannot say I should be angry: it would be too comical—I should laugh. Marriage is not slavery, Diana.”
“But if I don’t mean to try it, why should I? there are quantities of people in the world to marry and be married. It is no sin, is it? but rather a variety. Now, acknowledge that I am convenient now and then, from the mere fact that there is only one of me! But it is the whole duty of woman in Sophy’s case. To marry and to marry well—to get a kind good man, who will not object to her aunt. So I repeat, Who is Mr. Pandolfini? To call her by such a big-sounding name would be very droll. But Italians are kind. Tell me who he is?”
“He is—well, he is not for Sophy, if that is what you mean. The ridiculous idea! Sophy—a little nobody, a blanche Miss! If you knew the man, you would laugh——”
“But you don’t laugh——”
“No; because men are such fools! and you never know what absurdity they may be guilty of when a girl has that little admiring manner, and looks up to them. Still, the Cavaliere has better taste—he has more sense. He might die for you, Diana; but that little thing——”