F. ” “Never for a second. Grudgingly he admired her. Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. The shock and distress were genuine. I overlooked the mechanical imperfections of your work, the utter lack of finish, the crudeness of your drawing. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face. She seemed bursting with the desire to talk, and watching for her opportunity.
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