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fool.” She struggled for breath and Marianne laid a finger on her lips.
    “Don’t talk anymore now, love.”
    “I must. I want to tell you something important. Tomorrow may be too late.”
    “It won’t be. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
    “Perhaps, perhaps not.” The old lady moistened her lips and said very slowly, “I loved that gentleman-farmer, Marianne. But we were quality, as you are, and he was beneath my station. My parents forbade the banns, shuffled me off to France, lavished me with exquisite clothes and jewelry, always, always drumming into my mind the gulf between us. A whole parade of elegant young men was brought forth, in the hopes that one of them would catch my eye, and daily my parents pointed out the differences between their polished behavior and the simple rustic manners of my gentleman-farmer. And it was true. John never in his life could have bowed so gracefully, or conversed so politely, or held a teacup with such poise. My mother would say, with a sad smile, ‘Poor Mr. Deighton would be so uncomfortable at a London rout, wouldn’t he?’ And I realized that he would. I was pretty as a girl, you know, and much attention was paid to me when we went to London for the season. My head was turned, and all those little refinements came to seem so vastly important. Can you understand what I’m saying, Marianne?”
    “I think so.”
    “We returned to the country in the summer and there was John, just as rustic and honest and straightforward as he had always been, and I told him . . ." The pale face turned aside on the pillow as though only to the darkness opposite could Aunt Effie confess her shame. “I told him we were not suited, that I would never be able to marry him, that he was not to wait until I came of age. At the time I thought I had uncovered a major flaw in him, one that I could not live with. Only later did I come to understand that the flaws were superficial, and infinitely small compared with the ones I found in my suitors. My lord Hercules cheated when racing his horses, my lord Ulysses had gambled away the whole of his family’s fortune, Sir Achilles seldom endured a sober moment, the Honorable Mr. Nestor was anything but honorable. In addition,” she declared, the strength returning momentarily to her voice, “they all quite deserted me when Papa lost most of his money in the South Sea scheme.”
    “And what of Mr. Deighton?”
    “He had married poor Lavinia Trapper. She was orphaned when her parents were killed in a coaching accident, and it was found that her father was deeply in debt. Do I credit John with too much humanity in thinking he married her out of kindness? Or is it only that I cannot believe he could have loved someone other than me? What a foolish old woman I’ve become.”
    “Hush, love. You are nothing of the sort. Can you sleep now?”
    Aunt Effie shook her head fretfully. “I haven’t told you what I meant to. I’m rambling on about my stupid affairs. The point is this, Marianne: There are good men among the gentry. They may not have the polish or refinement of a viscount, but for all that, they are honorable, generous-hearted men. If the quality is closed to you, that does not mean you cannot marry. I would rather have married my dear John, for all his muddy boots, than have remained a spinster all my life. No, that is not strong enough. I would rather have married him than any man I ever met, and I should have but for a false pride instilled in me. But it was my fault, too ready to believe my own consequence. How many ladies pace out their lives alone because a proper match is never made for them? One in ten, one in five, one in three? When I think that I could have sat beside the hearth with him every night for the last thirty years . . ." There was a quiet satisfaction to her voice as she said simply, “I have loved him all this time. I could never seem to love anyone else.”
    “You are fortunate indeed to have loved such a man,