mplete realisation of that idea of
ante-nuptial blessedness, of which Lily had often thought so much.
Whatever Emily did she did for Bernard; and, to give Captain Dale his
due, he received all the sweets which were showered upon him with
becoming signs of gratitude. I suppose it is always the case at such
times that the girl has the best of it, and on this occasion Emily
Dunstable certainly made the most of her happiness. "I do envy you,"
Lily said one day. The acknowledgement seemed to have been extorted
from her involuntarily. She did not laugh as she spoke, or follow up
what she had said with other words intended to take away the joke
of what she had uttered,--had it been a joke; but she sat silent,
looking at the girl who was re-arranging flowers which Bernard had
brought to her.

"I can't give him up to you, you know," said Emily.

"I don't envy you him, but 'it'," said Lily.

"Then go and get an 'it' for yourself. Why don't you have an 'it' for
yourself? You can have an 'it' to-morrow, if you like,--or two or
three, if all that I hear is true."

"No I can't," said Lily. "Things have gone wrong with me. Don't ask
me anything more about it. Pray don't. I shan't speak of it if you
do."

"Of course I will not if you tell me I must not."

"I do tell you so. I have been a fool to say anything about it.
However, I have got over my envy now, and am ready to go out with
your aunt. Here she is."

"Things have gone wrong with me." She repeated the same words to
herself over and over again. With all the efforts which she had made
she could not quite reconcile herself to the two letters which she
had written in the book. This coming up to London, and riding in the
Park, and going to the theatres, seemed to unsettle her. At home she
had schooled herself down into quiescence, and made herself think
that she believed that she was satisfied with the prospects of her
life. But now she was all astray again, doubting about herself,
hankering after something over and beyond that which seemed to be
allotted to her,--but, nevertheless, assuring herself that she never
would accept of anything else.

I must not, if I can help it, let the reader suppose that she was
softening her heart to John Eames because John Eames was spoken well
of in the world. But with all of us, in the opinion which we form
of those around us, we take unconsciously the opinion of others. A
woman is handsome because the world says so. Music is charming to