"All very true," interrupted Henrietta: "but not the happy. Nature and fortune are at variance with me: the one meant me to be much better than I actually am. Every day I see more clearly the worthlessness and the vacancy of the life that I lead: my heart is chilled and hardened, and my mind frets itself. It is a dreadful feeling that of knowing you are not loved as you could love, and as you deserve to be loved; to know that all your highest and best qualities"
"It is a dreadful thing," replied Ethel, with a shudder that she could not repress: her heart had gone back to its own early dream, and dwelt the more heavily on its present desolation.
Real feeling is shy of expression; and neither of the friends had courage to speak of what was nearest the heart of either. Henrietta did like to talk of Lord Marchmont, and to own how utterly she had been mistaken in believing that rank and wealth sufficed to make a happy marriage: she shamed to say how she craved for affection
