CHAPTER IV.
Oh! never another dream can be
Like that early dream of ours,
When the fairy, Hope, lay down like a child,
And slept amid opening flowers.
Little we recked of our coming years,
We fancied them just what we chose;
For, whatever life's after lights may be,
It colours its first from the rose.
"So you are going to leave us?" said Ethel.
"Why, child," (they were of the same age, but Henrietta's mind had far outgone its years), "you say this in the most dolorous of tones. I really see nothing so very dreadful in going to London, where I have made up my mind to force the women to die of envy, and the men of love,—the one by my diamonds, the other by my eyes."
"None may doubt the power of the latter, at least," observed Courtenaye.
"Truce to your fine sayings," replied Henrietta; "I would not give thank-you for a compliment from a person in your position. Now,
