Shall we blame her, if, in her
youthful belief in happiness as the chief good, her youthful
impatience of peace, and calm, and rest, she longed with a
great longing for movement, change, excitement? Outside, as it
seemed to her, in her vague young imagination, such a free,
glorious life was going on--and she had no part in it! As she
stood at her window, the distant, ceaseless roar of the street
traffic would sound to her, in the stillness of the night,
like the beat of the great waves of life that for ever broke
and receded, before they could touch the weary spot where she
stood spell-bound in isolation. And through it all she said to
herself, "When Monsieur Horace comes home,"--and now Monsieur
Horace had come, would he do anything to help her?
Graham, indeed, was willing enough to do what he could do for
her; and before he went to bed that night he wrote the
following letter to his sister, Mrs. Vavasour:
"My dear Georgie,
"The butter and eggs arrived in safety, and Aunt Barbara
declared herself much pleased with your hamper of country
produce; but you will, no doubt, have heard from her before
this.
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