'Heigho!' said Venetia. 'There are other cares in our house besides
our unfortunate acquaintance with your cousin. We were the last people
in the world with whom he should ever have become connected.'

'And yet it was an intimacy that commenced auspiciously,' said her
friend. 'I am sure I have sat with Cadurcis, and listened to him by
the hour, while he has told me of all the happy days at Cherbury when
you were both children; the only happy days, according to him, that he
ever knew.'

'Yes! they were happy days,' said Venetia.

'And what connection could have offered a more rational basis for
felicity than your union?' he continued. 'Whatever the world may
think, I, who know Cadurcis to the very bottom of his heart, feel
assured that you never would have repented for an instant becoming the
sharer of his life; your families were of equal rank, your estates
joined, he felt for your mother the affection of a son. There seemed
every element that could have contributed to earthly bliss. As for his
late career, you who know all have already, have always indeed,
viewed it with charity. Placed in his position, who could have acted
otherwise? I know very well that his genius, which might recommend
him to another woman, is viewed by your mother with more than
apprehension. It is true that a man of his exquisite sensibility
requires sympathies as refined to command his nature. It is no common
mind that could maintain its hold over Cadurcis, and his spirit could
not yield but to rare and transcendent qualities. He found them,
Venetia, he found them in her whom he had known longest and most
intimately, and loved from his boyhood. Talk of constancy, indeed! who
has been so constant as my cousin? No, Venetia! you may think fit to
bow to the feelings of your mother, and it would be impertinence in me
to doubt for an instant the propriety of your conduct: I do not doubt
it; I admire it; I admire you, and everything you have done; none can
view your behaviour throughout all these painful transactions with
more admiration, I might even say with more reverence, than myself;
but, Venetia, you never can persuade me, you have never attempted to
persuade me, that you yourself are incredulous of the strength and
permanency of my cousin's love.'

'Ah, George! you are our friend!' said Venetia, a tear stealing down
her cheek. 'But, indeed, we must not talk of these things. As for
myself, I think not of happiness. I am certain I am not born