But she had once loved her cousin. Yes, truly it was so. In her thoughts she did not now deny it. She had loved him, and was tormented by a feeling that she had had a more full delight in that love than in this other that had sprung up subsequently. She had told herself that this had come of her youth;--that love at twenty was sweeter than it could be afterwards. There had been a something of rapture in that earlier dream which could never be repeated,--which could never live, indeed, except in a dream. Now, now that she was older and perhaps wiser, love meant a partnership, in which each partner would be honest to the other, in which each would wish and strive for the other's welfare, so that thus their joint welfare might be insured. Then, in those early girlish days, it had meant a total abnegation of self. The one was of earth, and therefore possible. The other had been a ray from heaven,--and impossible, except in a dream.

However, she had once loved her cousin.
Yes, it was true. In her thoughts she did not deny it. She had loved him, and was tormented by a feeling that she had had a more full delight in that love than in this. She had told herself that this was a result of her youth; that love at twenty was sweeter and more rapturous than it could be afterwards.
Now that she was older and perhaps wiser, love meant a partnership, in which each partner would be honest to the other, in which each would strive for the other's welfare. This love was of earth, and therefore possible. The other had been a ray from heaven - and impossible, except in a dream.
