Clara smiled, and assured her she was too complimentary.
“Oh, not half enough so!” she answered; “but it is said you are already given away; that the bargain is struck, the arrangements made; and that the Conde San Vincente is the happy man. However, I now see you are a great deal too good for him. You cannot have seen him very often, I suppose?”
“I have seen him but twice,” answered Clara.
“Oh, how fortunate you were!” answered Donna Theresa, laughing. “Few have so many opportunities of judging of their future lords and masters. Then, for a second wonder, the report is correct, and you are betrothed to the count?”
“Oh, I trust in Heaven not,” said Clara, sorrowfully: “I could never love the count.”
“Very likely not,” returned her visitor, laughing. “It is a question seldom asked of us poor girls till we arrive at the altar, with a lie on our tongues. But your father wishes for the match?”
Clara bowed assent.
“Oh, then, I fear, poor bird, you are entrapped; but you need not be unhappy alone, for you have plenty of sisters in affliction;” and a shade passed over the lovely countenance of Donna Theresa.
“But is it possible to marry a man one cannot love?” asked Clara, with emphasis on her words.
“Possible! why yes, such is but a trifle, which thousands do every day,” answered her guest, laughing at her simplicity. “It is a trifle not worth thinking about. We poor women are doomed to have husbands of some sort; such is our unavoidable lot, and we must submit to it; but for my part, I prefer having one I do not love; for he will give me much less trouble in managing, and I shall be able to enjoy as much liberty as I can desire. Now I should advise you to follow my example.”