There were many who strove in the battle of life,
Who shared in the struggle and joined in the strife
And fought to their uttermost breath;
But some stood aside while the battle rolled by,
And lifted to heaven an agonized cry—
"We are wounded," they said, "to the death!"
"Wrexham," said Isabel to her lover the next day, as they were sitting in the drawing-room in Prince's Gate, "I am going to make you unhappy, but I cannot help it."
Lord Wrexham's face grew anxious. "I know what it is; you caught cold last night, and you fear you are going to be ill. I was afraid there was a draught all the time."
"No, it isn't that—it is something much worse," replied Isabel gently; she was very patient with Wrexham now.
"Then tell me the worst at once. I cannot bear suspense where you are concerned."
"Please don't mind very much, dear," said Isabel, laying her hand caressingly on his coat-sleeve, "but I cannot marry you."
Lord Wrexham turned very white. "Cannot marry me? What ever do you mean?"
"I mean that I have been deceiving myself all along, and that I do not really love you, though I admire and esteem and respect you with all my heart."
"But, my dearest, I never for a moment supposed that you did love me. I used sometimes to pretend to myself that you did, because it made me so happy; but I really knew all the time that it was absurd to expect a brilliant and attractive woman like you to fall in love with such a stupid old fellow as I am. I only asked to be allowed to love you; and I ask that still."
"But it isn't fair to take the best that you have to offer, and only to give you scraps in return," cried Isabel.