"You!" exclaims Lauraine, in surprise.
"Not that I believe in such sentiments," continues her friend, smiling. "For the matter of that, I suppose no poet is quite idiot enough to believe what he writes, unless they are things like the 'Boudoir Ballads.' But it sounds well to talk of love being all in all, though no one believes it is—or, indeed, wants it to be. Moonlight and kisses are all very well, but we want some more substantial food in life than that."
"You don't believe in love, then?" questions Lauraine.
"Not much. I have outlived that faith. Most women do. At sixteen, you know, we believe in all men; at twenty in one; at thirty in none. I believe in none. I have given myself up to the pleasures of the mind, and they suit me much better. I am a disciple of culture."
"I know," smiles Lauraine. "But you might find a kindred spirit even there. What then?"
"Well, I have not much fear of that," says Lady Etwynde gravely. "You see, the men I meet and associate with are more or less hobby-riders. They each have a special subject, and devote themselves to it—almost too much so, in fact. But I suppose it is difficult to draw the line. A fair and adequate amount of culture is delightful, but it leads people on to wild lengths sometimes. I am wondering in my own mind how far the desire for its acquisition will lead me. Still, one must have some object in life—especially if one is a woman and not married; and I shall never be that."
"Why is it so improbable?" asks Lauraine.
"Why? Oh, because I don't care for such a prosaic termination to my liberty for one thing, and I don't believe in men for another. And society—society as it is now—has really very little interest for me. It bores me, in point of fact. All the same, my dear, the men I meet and whose society I cultivate are not at all the sort of men to inspire romantic sentiments—do you think so?"
"Candidly, I do not," smiles Lauraine.
"And as a woman—however hard she strives to cultivate her mental power—must also have some outlet for the weaker and more sentimental portion of her nature, I take refuge in writing poetry. It is very safe, and does no one either good or harm, which is more than we can say of some of our modern poets. I have never shaped my actions by what people think or believe, and I am not going to begin now. I am called eccentric, but I would rather be that than commonplace. You, now, are very different. You are full to the brim with romance, and you still believe in 'moonlight and kisses.' Unfortunately, I can't preach a mission to you, for you are married; and as for art and culture, well, your position demands incessant sacrifices, and the higher good must suffer. Perhaps, after all, it is best to live for the life about one, not some abstract thing that only has interest for a few. The one owns a wider range of sympathy, and has at least the advantage of being understood."