s to secure you greatness, and now, when the first occasion
arrives, it seems I am more than powerless."

"Dearest sister! you have done so much for me."

"Nothing," said Lady Roehampton; "what I have done for you would have
been done by every sister in this metropolis. I dreamed of other things;
I fancied, with my affection and my will, I could command events, and
place you on a pinnacle. I see my folly now; others have controlled your
life, not I--as was most natural; natural, but still bitter."

"Dearest Myra!"

"It is so, Endymion. Let us deceive ourselves no longer. I ought not
to have rested until you were in a position which would have made you a
master of your destiny."

"But if there should be such a thing as destiny, it will not submit to
the mastery of man."

"Do not split words with me; you know what I mean; you feel what I mean;
I mean much more than I say, and you understand much more than I say. My
lord told me to ask you to dine with us, if you called, but I will not
ask you. There is no joy in meeting at present. I feel as I felt in our
last year at Hurstley."

"Oh! don't say that, dear Myra!" and Endymion sprang forward and kissed
her very much. "Trust me; all will come right; a little patience, and
all will come right."

"I have had patience enough in life," said Lady Roehampton; "years of
patience, the most doleful, the most dreary, the most dark and tragical.
And I bore it all, and I bore it well, because I thought of you, and
had confidence in you, and confidence in your star; and because, like
an idiot, I had schooled myself to believe that, if I devoted my will to
you, that star would triumph."

So, the reader will see, that our hero was not in a very serene and
genial mood when he was buttonholed by the editor in the lobby, and, it
is feared, he was unusually curt with that gentleman, which editors do
not like, and sometimes reward with a leading article in consequence,
on the character and career of our political chief, perhaps with some
passing reference to jacks-in-office, and the superficial impertinence
of private secretaries. These wise and amiable speculators on public
affairs should, however, sometimes charitably remember that even
ministers have their chagrins, and that the trained temper and
imperturbable presence of mind of their aides-de-camp are not absolutely
proof to all the infirmities of human nature.

Endymion had returned home from the lobby, depressed and dispirit