But for the stroke
of fate, she might have won that reception which was in her dream,
and with what self-mockery when experience had matured itself! Never
yet did true rebel, who has burst the barriers of social limitation,
find aught but _ennui_ in the trim gardens beyond.
When John asked if the book had given her amusement, she said that
reading made her eyes ache. He noticed that her hand felt feverish,
and that the dark mood had fallen upon her as badly as ever
to-night.
'It's just what I said,' she exclaimed with abruptness, after long
refusal to speak. 'I knew your friend would never come as long as I
was here.'
John regarded her anxiously. The phrase 'your friend' had a peculiar
sound that disturbed him. It made him aware that she had been
thinking often of Sidney Kirkwood since his name had been dismissed
from their conversation. He, too, had often turned his mind uneasily
in the same direction, wondering whether he ought to have spoken of
Sidney so freely. At the time it seemed best, indeed almost
inevitable; but habit and the force of affection were changing his
view of Clara in several respects. He recognised the impossibility
of her continuing to live as now, yet it was as difficult as ever to
conceive a means of aiding her.
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