"I? Tired of Philip? I am only happy when he is with me!" And her eyes deepened with passionate tenderness. "I would wish to live and die beside him, and I should not care if I never saw another human face than his!"
"Well, and don't you think he has the same feelings for you?"
"Men are different, I think," returned Thelma musingly. "Now, love is everything to me--but it may not be everything to Philip. I do believe that love is only part of a man's life, while it is all a woman's. Clara told me once that most husbands wearied of their wives, though they would not always confess it--"
"Clara Winsleigh's modern social doctrines are false, my dear!" interrupted Mrs. Lorimer quickly. "She isn't satisfied with her own marriage, and she thinks everybody must be as discontented as herself. Now, my husband and I lived always together for five and twenty years,--and we were lovers to the last day, when my darling died with his hand in mine--and--and--if it hadn't been for my boy,--I should have died too!"
And two bright tears fell glittering on the old lady's knitting.
Thelma took her hand and kissed it fondly. "I can understand that," she said softly; "but still,--still I do believe it is difficult to keep love when you have won it! It is, perhaps, easy to win--but I am sure it is hard to keep!"
Mrs. Lorimer looked at her earnestly.
"My dear child, don't let that frivolous Winsleigh woman put nonsense into your pretty head. You are too sensible to take such a morbid view of things,--and you mustn't allow your wholesome fresh nature to be contaminated by the petulant, wrong-headed notions that cloud the brains of idle, fashionable, useless women. Believe me, good men don't tire of their wives--and Sir Philip is a good man. Good wives never weary their husbands--and you are a good wife--and you will be a good, sweet mother. Think of that new delight so soon coming for you,--and leave all the modern, crazy, one-sided notions of human life to the French and Russian novelists. Tut-tut!" continued the old lady tenderly. "A nice little ladyship you are,--worrying yourself about nothing! Send Philip to me when he comes home--I'll scold him for leaving his bird to mope in her London cage!"
"I do not mope," declared Thelma. "And you must not scold him, please! Poor boy! he is working so very hard, and has so much to attend to. He wants to distinguish himself for--for my sake!"