Good-bye."
"Go to your baby-faced Violet," cries the Tulip, with a toss of her
haughty head. "You are just fitted for each other."
And when I return to the Lily, she tells me that she cannot trust
me. She has watched me with those others. She knows me for a
gad-about. Her gentle face is full of pain.
So I must live unloved merely because I love too much.
My wonder is that young men ever marry. The difficulty of selection
must be appalling. I walked the other evening in Hyde Park. The
band of the Life Guards played heart-lifting music, and the vast
crowd were basking in a sweet enjoyment such as rarely woos the
English toiler. I strolled among them, and my attention was chiefly
drawn towards the women. The great majority of them were, I
suppose, shop-girls, milliners, and others belonging to the lower
middle-class. They had put on their best frocks, their bonniest
hats, their newest gloves. They sat or walked in twos and threes,
chattering and preening, as happy as young sparrows on a clothes
line. And what a handsome crowd they made! I have seen German
crowds, I have seen French crowds, I have seen Italian crowds; but
nowhere do you find such a proportion of pretty women as among the
English middle-class.
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