"When change itself can give no more,
'Tis easy to be true,"
quotes he, tenderly; and then she goes nearer to him,—tears in her eyes.
"You are too good for me," she says.
"Darling," says Scrope, and after that, somehow, it seems but a little thing that his arms should close around her, and that her head should lie contentedly upon his shoulder.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
"There is no life on earth but being in love!"—Ben Jonson.
"Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round;
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound;
And he, amidst his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wing."—Collins.
It is the afternoon of the same day, and Dorian, with a keeper behind him, is trudging through the woods of Hythe, two trusty setters at his heels. He cannot be said to be altogether unhappy, because he has had a real good day with his gun, as his bag can testify, and, be a man never so disturbed by conflicting emotions, be he five fathoms deep in a hopeless attachment, still he will tramp through his heather, or ride to hounds, or smoke his favorite cigars, with the best, and find, indeed, pleasure therein. For, truly,—
"Man's love is of man's life a thing apart;
'Tis woman's whole existence."