“I was thinking something not very far from it,” said he, smiling.
“Of course you were; but you never thought, perhaps, how soon ennui and lassitude might have taken the place of all my present energy. I want to please you now, George, since without me you would be desolate; but if we were rich, you'd not depend on me, and I'd have been very dispirited and very sad. There now, that's quite enough of sentimentalizing for once. I 'm off to dress. Do you know,” said she, as she mounted the stairs, “I have serious thoughts of captivating Mr. Cutbill?”
“Oh, Julia, I entreat—” but she was gone ere he could finish, and her merry laughter was heard till her door closed.
Poor girl, her light-heartedness died out as she felt herself alone, and turning towards a little photograph of a man in a naval uniform, that hung over the chimney, her eyes grew dim with tears as she gazed on it.
“Ay,” said she, bitterly, “and this same humor it was that lost me the truest heart that ever beat! What would I not give now to know that he still remembered me—remembered me with kindness!”
She sat down, with her face buried in her hands, nor stirred till the sound of voices beneath apprised her that their guest had arrived.
While she was yet standing before her glass, and trying to efface the traces of sorrow on her features, George tapped softly at her door. “May I come in?” cried he. “Oh, Julia,” said he, as he drew nigh, “it is worse than I had even suspected. Cutbill tells me that—”
He could not go on, but bending his head on her shoulder, sobbed hysterically.
“George, George, do not give way thus,” said she calmly. “What is it has happened? What has he told you?”
“The mine—the Lisconnor scheme—is bankrupt.”