rounded, if it serve only as a barrier to all kindly feelings?"
Never had Lady Marchmont felt so lonely. Disdain for her husband was mingled with the bitterness of restraint; restraint, too, where her own heart told her she was right. There never was a finer nor a higher nature than Henrietta's: she was completely carried away by impulse; but then her impulses were all generous and lofty. She was enthusiastic, and keenly susceptible; a word, a look, would send the blush to her cheek, and the light to her eye: she was eager in whatever she undertook, and yet soon and easily discouraged: she was proud, and hence impatient of authority; but kindness could have done any thing with her. She needed to love, and to be beloved; her heart was full of warmth and emotion, to which some object was a sweet necessity. The destiny of one like Henrietta is made by the affections; these repressed or disgusted, checked the growth of all good, and the life that she was now leading was calculated to do any thing but foster any more lofty or kindly feeling.
