It was only a
way he had, but she was a silly little woman, and vain, telling
herself that in the old days she was sure he loved her hopelessly, but
the Duke then lived, and British law was in the way, a woman could not
marry more than one man at one time. She little knew that the mighty
eagle, as he soars to his home in the mountain heights, with his bold
glance wooing the sun, would as soon love the puny night hawk as would
Lionel Trevalyon waste his heart's strongest feelings on such a frail
butterfly as Posey Wyesdale.
So, now, on the _entree_ of our friends without Trevalyon the Duchess,
as she greeted them, called out in her thin treble,
"Where's my truant cavalier? You have never come without him? That
would be too cruel."
"We have; simply because he has left Rome and Italy."
"Left Rome without bidding me _adieu_," screamed Posey, "how cruel!
Eveline, ring for my drops; the shock makes me feel quite faint. Tell
me how, and why, Lady Esmondet?"
"His uncle, Sir Vincent was dying,--is now probably over the border."
"To a death-bed! how unfortunate! What shall I do without him for my
tableaux?" she was moved to tears--for the tableaux.
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