——
CHAPTER II.
Oh! how this Spring of Love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day.
Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Some months again passed away, when, one morning, as James was about to leave the breakfast-room, he saw his mother suddenly put down an open letter, which she had been reading, and turn to his father with an exclamation—“Minister to France, William! Is this a stroke of Fortune or of Misfortune?”
“Such a question,” replied Mr. Darrington, “requires no answer. Whatever my appointment be to me, to you, I see that it is misfortune. But you are a woman, and therefore a stranger to the pleasures of ambition.”
“And to its pains,” said the wife quietly.
“Then from you,” resumed Mr. D., with a shade of vexation in his tone—“from you I may expect no congratulation. Have you no pride in such a mark of confidence to me from my country?”
“If by ‘your country’ you mean, as I suppose you do, your government, I fear that I am not to be any more elated by its confidence than depressed by its distrust. And besides,” continued she fondly, “my pride in you, William, is of too old a date to be increased by political success.”