CHAPTER XXII.
A MATRIMONIAL TÊTE-À-TÊTE.
These are the things that fret away the heart—
Cold, careless trifles; but not felt the less
For mingling with the hourly acts of life.
It is a cruel lot for the fine mind,
Full of emotions generous and true,
To feel its light flung back upon itself;
All its warm impulses repelled and chilled,
Until it finds a refuge in disdain!
And woman, to whom sympathy is life,
The only atmosphere in which her soul
Developes all it has of good and true;
How must she feel the chill!
"How fond she was of flowers!" exclaimed Lady Marchmont, turning sadly away from a stand of choice plants, which Mrs. Courtenaye had sent her, two days before her death; "there was a likeness between them—so frail, so fair, and doomed so soon to perish. She was too
