And this too she felt--that let her success be what it might, she
could not be happy unless she could win a man's heart. She had won Sir
Florian's, but that had been but for an hour--for a month or two. And then
Sir Florian had never really won hers. Could not she be simple? Could not
she act simplicity so well that the thing acted should be as powerful as
the thing itself; perhaps even more powerful? Poor Lizzie Eustace! In
thinking over all this she saw a great deal. It was wonderful that she
should see so much and tell herself so many home truths. But there was one
truth she could not see, and therefore could not tell it to herself. She
had not a heart to give. It had become petrified during those lessons of
early craft in which she had taught herself how to get the better of
Messrs. Harter & Benjamin, of Sir Florian Eustace, of Lady Linlithgow, and
of Mr. Camperdown.
Her ladyship had now come down to her country house, leaving London and
all its charms before the end of the season, actuated by various motives.
In the first place, the house in Mount Street was taken furnished, by the
month, and the servants were hired after the same fashion, and the horses
jobbed.
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