You are queerly educated; and it strikes me that your father had some definite purpose in thus educating you. Ray did not pace, he just stood. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. “Shhh. She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said.
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