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CHAPTER XVIII.
"Oh, weary heart, that must within itself
Close all its deepest leaves."
L. E. L.
A few days brought time into that general routine of small observances which make up ordinary existence; but never had Francesca felt herself in a more uncongenial atmosphere. There was a littleness and an indolence about Lord Avonleigh which—unless concealed by the magic of long association, when affection is matter of habit—were insuperable barriers to attachment. Had Francesca grown up by his side, she would have loved him; and a thousand indulgences, the result of careless good-nature, would have linked the child to the parent, till the mutual affection would have become a thing of course. But he was not one whom you could begin to love with the judgment ripened and the feelings accustomed to examination. Albert was much more an object of interest;
