“You may think so now, but believe me, Paul, my friend, you will find her yet—this gentle, beautiful woman whom you should marry,” madam said, in reply to his remark about not marrying.
“My dear madam,” he returned, with a smile and a shake of his head, “you are but building castles in the air, which the lightest breath will dissipate. A man can never love but once as I have loved Editha Dalton.”
“That may be true,” madam smilingly assented; “but the first fierce, wild passion may not always be the wisest love. Wait a little, mon ami, and we shall see. You know—
‘No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
But some heart, though unknown,
Responds unto his own.’
But, meantime, I have a strange, irrepressible longing to see more of this motherless girl, whose life has been so sadly blighted at the outset. Mr. Tressalia, I think I would like to see a little of Saratoga myself, and I feel confident that Miss Editha would not feel sorry to see her friend again.”
“Do you think so?” he asked, eagerly.
“I am sure of it. This little note breathes of a strong regret that she was obliged to go away at all. I am afraid she will wilt again if she cannot be under genial influences.”