How is
it you are not with us? The Claxtons will hear of no further delay.
So while they get into travelling gear, must have a one-sided
leave-taking with you, as we must needs leave Park Lane without a
hand-clasp. Vaura, always lovely, is more bewitching than ever
tonight, as she talked earnestly to Travers Guy Cyril, you will
remember him. She looked not unlike Guido's Beatrice; (I don't mean
the daubs one sees, but Guido's own), the same soul-full eyes,
Grecian nose, and lovely full curved lips. Guy, always melancholy,
Vaura, always sympathetic, the reflection of his sad eyes lent to
hers a deep tenderness; that he loves her hopelessly, poor fellow,
is only too evident, he bid us adieu for a New York trip, thence, he
seemed to think, no one cared. And so, lives are parted; one is
inclined to quarrel with Fate at times; she bids you to the "Towers"
and elsewhere; Vaura and self to the Scotch Lakes, afterwards to
gay Brighton. I would you were with us, _cher_ Lionel, but your
long-deferred visit to your place is an absolute necessity, so, much
as one regrets the moves of the 'miscreator circumstance,' one must
submit.
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