smiling at me. "Graham says you are the most peculiar, capricious little woman he knows; but yet you are excellent; we both think so."
"You both think you know not what," said I. "Have the goodness to make me as little the subject of your mutual talk and thoughts as possible. I have my sort of life apart from yours."
"But ours, Lucy, is a beautiful life, or it will be; and you shall share it."
"I shall share no man's or woman's life in this world, as you understand sharing. I think I have one friend of my own, but am not sure; and till I am sure, I live solitary."
"But solitude is sadness."
"Yes; it is sadness. Life, however, has worse than that. Deeper than melancholy, lies heartbreak."
"Lucy, I wonder if anybody will ever comprehend you altogether."
There is, in lovers, a certain infatuation of egotism; they will have a witness of their happiness, cost that witness what it may. Paulina had forbidden letters, yet Dr. Bretton wrote; she had resolved against correspondence, yet she answered, were it only to chide. She showed me these
