"
She laughed drearily as she uttered these words and came towards the
fire saying
"What a fuss I make about a little human life, eh Amey?"
"It is right that you should," I answered gravely, "it is dearer to
you I suppose than anything in the world."
She stroked my hair affectionately and we both looked into the fire.
One of her dainty slippers rested on the fender, one of her jewelled
hands lay tremulously on my shoulder.
I knew that something should be said to her while this mood was on
her, but what right had I to speak? I, who advocated every dreary
conviction she had just uttered! I, who was so wretched and tired of
my own life, what could I say to cheer or encourage her? My heart was
full, but my lips were dumb. Something was telling me that there was
no perfect happiness for women on earth, but I could not permit myself
to express so gloomy a belief at this critical moment, when a fair,
young, beautiful creature stood waiting beside me for a stimulus to
hope and perseverance.
While I sat reflecting, she herself interpreted my mental soliloquy.
"This is the way with all of us, Amey," she said in a quieter and
gentler tone. "I never knew a woman who, if she told the truth, could
pride herself on being happy. It is beyond the narrow limits of our
present sphere. The maids that wait upon us envy us and think that in
our places they would have nothing left to wish for. The discontented
seamstress that stitches away at my expensive dresses fancies they
must shelter a happy heart, whose lot she covets; and all the while I
am wishing for anything else in the world besides what I have.
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