Three years had passed by, and nothing had been done of that which
she had intended to do. Three years had passed, which to her, with
her desires, were so important. And yet she hardly knew what were her
desires, and had never quite defined her intentions. She told herself
on this very journey that the time had now gone by, and that in
losing these three years she had lost everything. As yet,--so she
declared to herself now,--the world had done but little for her. Two
old men had loved her; one had become her husband, and the other had
asked to become so;--and to both she had done her duty. To both she
had been grateful, tender, and self-sacrificing. From the former she
had, as his widow, taken wealth which she valued greatly; but the
wealth alone had given her no happiness. From the latter, and from
his family, she had accepted a certain position. Some persons, high
in repute and fashion, had known her before, but everybody knew her
now. And yet what had all this done for her? Dukes and duchesses,
dinner-parties and drawing-rooms,--what did they all amount to? What
was it that she wanted?
She was ashamed to tell herself that it was love.
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