Vanity will, after a little time, come into play; and the grief that is concealed is half subdued."
"Now, my dear Ellen, confess that you do not know what to say. You have, if not directly, yet indirectly, kept alive the romantic fancy of Miss Arundel for Lorraine. You thought of the match as suitable, till it almost seemed certain. You were neither prepared for the disappointment, nor, I fear, for the keenness with which that disappointment will be felt."
"There, now, do not make out the case worse than it really is. Change of scene, and a new lover, are infallible specifics, always supposing there is no character for constancy to be supported: if I witness the violent sorrow of to-day, I impose upon to-morrow the necessity of being sorry also. Our hurry—a wish not to disturb her, as she has the headach, so early—are valid excuses for not seeing her this morning. If there is depression, let us not seem to notice it;—let us speak as usual of Lorraine. New objects, new amusements, will occupy her mind; and unhappiness, equally unsuspected and unspoken, will die of its own nonentity."
"Well, Ellen, I suppose one woman knows
