"Oh, no! a cottage or a palace would be alike to me, provided you are near me. It seems to me now as if I should awake in the morning, and find I had been in a dream. I am not sure that you have not a magic ring on your finger that produces this illusion."
But the morning sunbeams flashed on the softly murmuring fountain, on the white polished forms of the Grecian myths, on the trailing luxuriance of the tropic blossoms. They glanced in on the glittering drapery that wreathed the marble columns, and lighted the crystal dome over my head with a mild, subdued radiance.
A boudoir which I had not seen the evening before elicited my morning admiration,—it was furnished with such exquisite elegance, and contained so many specimens of the fine arts. Two rosewood cabinets, inlaid with pearl, were filled with chefs-d'[oe]uvres from the hands of masters, collected in the old world. They were locked; but through the glass doors I could gaze and admire, and make them all my own. An elegant escritoire was open on the table, the only thing with which I could associate the idea of utility. Yes, there was a harp, that seemed supported by a marble cherub,—a most magnificent instrument. I sighed to think it was useless to me; but Ernest's hand would steal music from its silent strings.
And now behold me installed as mistress of this luxurious mansion, an utter stranger in the heart of a great metropolis!
It was now that I understood the reserve of Ernest's character. It was impossible that we should remain altogether strangers, living in a style which wealth only could sanction. Mr. Harland, the gentleman with whom Ernest had corresponded, moved in the circles of fashion and distinction, and he introduced his friends and acquaintances, being himself a frequent and agreeable visitor. Ernest received our guest with elegance and politeness,—these attributes were inseparable from himself,—but there was a coldness and reserve that seemed to forbid all approach to intimacy. Fearful of displeasing him, I repressed the natural frankness and social warmth of my nature, and I am sure our visitors often departed, chilled and disappointed. The parlor was lined with mirrors, and I could not turn without seeing myself reflected on every side; and not only myself, but an eye that watched my every movement, and an ear that drank in my every word. How could I feel at ease, or do justice to those powers of pleasing with which nature may have gifted me?
Sometimes, though very seldom, Ernest was not present; and then my spirits rebounded from this unnatural constraint, and I laughed and talked like other people. The youthful brightness of my feelings flashed forth, and I forgot that a clouded star presided over my young life.
CHAPTER XXXII.
I would not give the impression that, at this time, I felt hurt at the coldness and reserve of Ernest, as exhibited in society. I was fearful of displeasing him by showing too much pleasure in what did not appear to interest him; but when the door was closed on the departing guest and he exclaimed,—
"Thank heaven! we are once more alone!"