Henrietta never recovered her former gaiety: a well of grief had opened in her heart; and nothing could stop the under-current of its deep, still waters. One idea was perpetually recurring, "There is no one to love me now!" and, in proportion to the want of affection, the craving for it became stronger. While Sir Jasper lived, there was one human being in whom she could repose unlimited confidence; one to whom, under any circumstances, she could turn for consolation; one to whom even a trifle, concerning herself, was the dearest thing on earth: now, there was no one whom she could truly say loved her. With all her advantages, with all her fascination and her loveliness, she was flattered, admired, and courted, but not loved. How unsatisfactory was the homage of the eye and the lip only!
It was while dwelling on these topics of sadness and irritation, that her eye fell upon Lord Marchmont's letter of invitation to Sir Jasper. It arrived but a few moments after his death, and had never been opened; she broke the seal, but had not patience to read
