And the Duke of St. James, what did he do? It must be confessed that in
some points he greatly resembled the Misses Montingford, for he was both
silent and admiring; but he never laughed. Yet he was not dull, and
was careful not to show that he had cares, which is vulgar. If a man be
gloomy, let him keep to himself. No one has a right to go croaking
about society, or, what is worse, looking as if he stifled grief. These
fellows should be put in the pound. We like a good broken heart or so
now and then; but then one should retire to the Sierra Morena mountains,
and live upon locusts and wild honey, not 'dine out' with our cracked
cores, and, while we are meditating suicide, the Gazette, or the
Chiltern Hundreds, damn a vintage or eulogise an _entree_.
And as for cares, what are cares when a man is in love? Once more they
had met; once more he gazed upon that sunny and sparkling face; once
more he listened to that sweet and thrilling voice, which sounded like
a bird-like burst of music upon a summer morning. She moved, and each
attitude was fascination. She was still, and he regretted that she
moved.
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