herself by Ethel, "this very grief shows you regret him."
"It does!" exclaimed Ethel, suddenly raising her face, and dashing the tears aside. "I loved him—utterly, tenderly, as I shall never love again; but I will not trust my happiness a second time with one who wrecked it so entirely: I have not courage to risk such suffering again. He sacrificed me first for interest; I should next be flung aside for some newer fancy. There is no faith to be placed, where faith has been once broken: and now, let this subject be dropped forever between us. I will not, I could not, marry Mr. Courtenaye!"
"It is of no use," exclaimed Lady Marchmont, as her companion left the room, "and I know not what to say. She convinces my reason, and yet I see she is wretched; she will neither be happy with him, nor without him. Love is a fearful risk; and, I believe, of all the ingenious inventions for multiplying and varying misery, it is one of the most ingenious."
