He might have weighed profit against
other considerations, and have written in that way of her father;
she had not felt that absolute confidence which defies every
argument from human frailty. And now she asked herself if faith
of that unassailable kind is ever possible; is it not only the
poet's dream, the far ideal?
Marian often went thus far in her speculation. Her candour was
allied with clear insight into the possibilities of falsehood;
she was not readily the victim of illusion; thinking much, and
speaking little, she had not come to her twenty-third year
without perceiving what a distance lay between a girl's dream of
life as it might be and life as it is. Had she invariably
disclosed her thoughts, she would have earned the repute of a
very sceptical and slightly cynical person.
But with what rapturous tumult of the heart she could abandon
herself to a belief in human virtues when their suggestion seemed
to promise her a future of happiness!
Alone in her room she sat down only to think of Jasper Milvain,
and extract from the memory of his words, his looks, new
sustenance for her hungry heart.
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