"Do, dear," laughed her mother, relieved.
There was no mirth to be had out of it for Yvonne de Courval.
"It is not a matter for jesting," she said. "He is quite too like me to be other than obstinate, and this, like what else of the trials God has seen fit to send, is to be endured. He is too like me to change."
"Then," said Margaret, gaily, "thou must be like him."
"I suppose so," said the vicomtesse, with a note of melancholy in her tones.
"Then if thou art like him, thou wilt have to love me," cried Margaret. The mother smiled at this pretty logic, but the Huguenot dame sat up on her chair, resentful of the affectionate familiarity of the girl's gaiety.
"Your mother and I have talked, and what use is it? I shall try to care for you, and love may come. But I could have wished—"
"Oh, no!" cried Margaret. "Please to say no more. Thou will only hurt me."
"I remain of the same opinion; I am not of a nature which allows me to change without reason."
"And as for me," said Mrs. Swanwick, smiling as she rose, "I yield when I must."