"Aw yes, woman, yes," she answered in a sadder tone, I thought. "Everybody's bound to hear it—what with the bands practising for the procession, and the bullocks roasting for the poor, and the fireworks and the illuminations, and I don't know what."
She was silent for a moment after that, and then in her simple way she said:
"But it's all as one if you love the man, even if he is a lord."
"You think that's necessary, don't you?"
"What, millish?"
"Love. You think it's necessary to love one's husband?"
"Goodness sakes, girl, yes. If you don't have love, what have you? What's to keep the pot boiling when the fire's getting low and the winter's coming on, maybe? The doctor's telling me some of the fine ladies in London are marrying without it—just for money and titles and all to that. But I can't believe it, I really can't! They've got their troubles same as ourselves, poor things, and what's the use of their fine clothes and grand carriages when the dark days come and the night's falling on them?"
It was harder than ever to speak now, so I got up to look at some silver cups that stood on the mantelpiece.
"Martin's," said his mother, to whom they were precious as rubies. "He won them at swimming and running and leaping and climbing and all to that. Aw, yes, yes! He was always grand at games, if he couldn't learn his lessons, poor boy. And now he's gone away from us—looking for South Poles somewheres."
"I know—I saw him in Rome," said I.