Twenty times in each day is she called upstairs to
where the sempstresses are at work, to have something tried on or fitted.
Poor little Birdie! she declares she never can stand it: she did not dream
that to be married she would have been subjected to such a world of
trouble, or she would never have consented,--_never_!
And then Clarence, too, comes in every morning, and remains half the day,
teasing her to play, to talk, or sing. Inconsiderate Clarence! when she has
so much on her mind; and when at last he goes, and she begins to felicitate
herself that she is rid of him, back he comes again in the evening, and
repeats the same annoyance. O, naughty, tiresome, Clarence! how can you
plague little Birdie so? Perhaps you think she doesn't dislike it; you may
be right, very likely she doesn't.
She sometimes wonders why he grows paler and thinner each day, and his
nervous and sometimes distracted manner teases her dreadfully; but she
supposes all lovers act thus, and expects they cannot help it--and then
little Birdie takes a sly peep in the glass, and does not so much wonder
after all.
Yet if she sometimes deems his manner startling and odd, what would she say
if she knew that, night after night, when he left her side, he wandered for
long hours through the cold and dreary streets, and then went to his hotel,
where he paced his room until almost day?
Ah, little Birdie, a smile will visit his pale face when you chirp tenderly
to him, and a faint tinge comes upon his cheek when you lay your soft tiny
hand upon it; yet all the while there is that desperate secret lying next
his heart, and, like a vampire, sucking away, drop by drop, happiness and
peace.
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