too had looked on and seen how jocund was the play; she also
had acknowledged that that running in the ring, that stout hitting of
the ball, that innocent craft, that bringing back by her own skill
and with her own hand of some long-backed fellow, would be pleasant
to her as well as to others. If only she now could be chosen in at
that game! But what if the side that she cared for would not have
her?

But _tempus edax rerum_, though it had hardly nibbled at her heart or
wishes, had been feeding on the freshness of her brow and the bloom
of her lips. The child with whom she would have loved to play kept
aloof from her too, and would not pick up the ball when it rolled
to his feet. All this, if one thinks of it, is hard to bear. It is
very hard to have had no period for rounders, not to be able even to
look back to one's games, and to talk of them to one's old comrades!
"But why then did she allow herself to be carried off by the wicked
wrinkled earl with the gloating eyes?" asks of me the prettiest girl
in the world, just turned eighteen. Oh heavens! Is it not possible
that one should have one more game of rounders? Quite impossible, O
my fat friend! And therefore I answer the young lady somewhat grimly.
"Take care that thou also art not carried off by a wrinkled earl. Is
thy heart free from all vanity? Of what nature is the heroism that
thou worshippest?" "A nice young man!" she says, boldly, though in
words somewhat different. "If so it will be well for thee; but did I
not see thine eyes hankering the other day after the precious stones
of Ophir, and thy mouth watering for the flesh-pots of Egypt? Was
I not watching thee as thou sattest at that counter, so frightfully
intent? Beware!" "The grumpy old fellow with the bald head!" she said
shortly afterwards to her bosom friend, not careful that her words
should be duly inaudible.

Some idea that all was not yet over with her had come upon her poor
heart,--upon Lady Desmond's heart, soon after Owen Fitzgerald had
made himself familiar in her old mansion. We have read how that idea
was banished, and how she had ultimately resolved that that man whom
she could have loved herself should be given up to her own child when
she thought that he was no longer poor and of low rank. She could not
sympathize with her daughter,--love with her love, and rejoice with
her joy; but she could do her duty by her, and according to her
lights she endeavoured so to do.

But now again all w