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Cross, Victoria, 1868-1952

"To-morrow?"

Each year that one lives one gets
to expect less and less from life, and one grows more philosophic,
more contented with what is thrown in one's way, and less
disappointed when one's hopes and expectations are not realised.
Judging by those things which we do gain and enjoy and experience
the worth lessness of, I suppose we learn by degrees to infer that
others so longed-for and coveted would prove as valueless if
possessed."
Her voice was low and tired, and had the sound of suppressed tears
in it.
"You are in a depressed frame of mind," I said.
"Yes;" then, with a cynical smile, "hysteric, as I told you. Well,
will you come to-morrow about eleven, and then afterwards we can
come back here to criticise 'Hyacinthus'?"
"Yes; I shall be delighted."
"I think mama is going to take our carriage, so come in yours, will
you?"
"Very good," I answered, and there was a long silence. Not broken,
in fact, until there was the stir of some of the guests leaving.
As the third or fourth left the room, I came round and took her hand
as I stood in front of her.
"Good-night, Lucia, I hope you may be granted all the sleep you have
stolen from me," I said gently; then, partly influenced by the
contact of that delicious hand, and prompted by my own impulse, and
partly deliberately to excite, if possible, her own instincts as
allies to fight for me, I pressed it hard as I added,--
"On how many more nights is this hated formula, 'Good-night,' to be
said between us? Minimise them, my darling, for my sake!"
Into the tone I allowed to enter all the strength of my feelings at
the moment.


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