human
They do, and naturally, she replied, with a calm emphasis that startled Mrs. Pryor.
gpt
They look forward to marriage with some one they love as the brightest, the only bright destiny that can await them. Are they wrong?
human
Oh, my dear! exclaimed Mrs. Pryor, clasping her hands; and again she paused. Caroline turned a searching, an eager eye on the face of her friend: that face was much agitated.
gpt
My dear, she murmured,
human
But not love! Love is real--the most real, the most lasting, the sweetest and yet the bitterest thing we know.
gpt
My dear, it is very bitter. It is said to be strong--strong as death! Most of the cheats of existence are strong. As to their sweetness, nothing is so transitory; its date is a moment, the twinkling of an eye. The sting remains for ever. It may perish with the dawn of eternity, but it tortures through time into its deepest night.
human
Yes, it tortures through time, agreed Caroline,
gpt
Mutual love! My dear, romances are pernicious. You do not read them, I hope?
human
Sometimes--whenever I can get them, indeed. But romance-writers might know nothing of love, judging by the way in which they treat of it.
gpt
Nothing whatever, my dear, assented Mrs. Pryor eagerly,
human
But it is not always slough, objected Caroline.
gpt
There are happy marriages. Where affection is reciprocal and sincere, and minds are harmonious, marriage _must_ be happy.
human
It is never wholly happy. Two people can never literally be as one. There is, perhaps, a possibility of content under peculiar circumstances, such as are seldom combined; but it is as well not to run the risk--you may make fatal mistakes. Be satisfied, my dear. Let all the single be satisfied with their freedom.
gpt
You echo my uncle's words! exclaimed Caroline, in a tone of dismay.
human
You speak like Mrs. Yorke in her most gloomy moments, like Miss Mann when she is most sourly and hypochondriacally disposed. This is terrible!
gpt
No, it is only true. O child, you have only lived the pleasant morning time of life; the hot, weary noon, the sad evening, the sunless night, are yet to come for you. Mr. Helstone, you say, talks as I talk; and I wonder how Mrs. Matthewson Helstone would have talked had she been living. She died! she died!
human
And, alas! my own mother and father----
gpt
What of them?
human
Did I never tell you that they were separated?
gpt
I have heard it.
human
They must, then, have been very miserable.
gpt
You see all _facts_ go to prove what I say.
human
In this case there ought to be no such thing as marriage.
gpt
There ought, my dear, were it only to prove that this life is a mere state of probation, wherein neither rest nor recompense is to be vouchsafed.
human
But your own marriage, Mrs. Pryor?