You see, reader, how faulty a character our heroine is: she could toil patiently for anything which she prized highly, and at no self-denial would she hesitate in order to attain the goal; but passive submission to suffering, or even to the absence of happiness, tried her sorely. Byron says strongly, but truly—
"Quiet to quick bosoms is a hell;"
and so, indeed, did Flora find it, although as yet she only knows what the "absence of happiness" is; ... the suffering has yet to come.
By half-past nine the next morning she and Marie were walking up and down the terrace walk which gives on the Grand Canal. They were talking eagerly, and the subject was an interesting one, to Marie at least.... Flora was sorry to find that Marie loved Mr. Barkley more deeply than she at first imagined; for although she believed that if Marie were never to see him again she would bear it patiently, be apparently contented, and perhaps even marry any one whom the de St. Severans chose, yet she felt that all the bright joyousness of her youth and character would be gone—buried in the grave of her first love. Flora was sorry for it—very sorry; but as it was so, she thought it would be cruel, as well as unwise, not to let her talk of him: it would do her less harm than to brood silently over the past. Then, in speaking of him—of his tastes and inclinations—Flora found an opportunity of naming books upon different subjects which interested him; and because they were connected with him, Marie would listen to what Flora said of them, ask questions, and generally end by declaring that she would read them.... They had been talking in this way to-day, when suddenly, and looking up inquiringly, Marie said—
"You do not think me good enough—clever enough—for Mr. Barkley, Flore?"
"You not good enough for him, Mignonne!" answered Flora, smiling. "Why, you are a little angel, and he is a very weak mortal; and you could be clever enough for him, too, if you chose to exert yourself a little. I know that study does not suit my Mignonne's African indolence, or French esprit volage. Nevertheless, everything is comparatively easy when done for those whom we like. But remember, Marie, there is scarcely any hope that you and he will ever come together; so, for the sake of your own peace, try not to think so much of him: study, because it will be an occupation to you and a resource, rather than to please one who may never be more to you than he is now. You know how it pains me to say these things to you, dearest; but it is to save you, if possible, from any more suffering."
"I do know it, Flore, and I will try to do as you say, and not think too much of him; but——" she broke off with a sigh, and added in a different tone—"There is the gondola."
"Then I must go to tell mamma. I hope she is ready!"
And away flew Flora. What would she not rather lose than one of the precious moments which awaited her at the Belle Arti? for they were to meet Mr. Earnscliffe there.