There
had been no other who had ever attempted to earn his bread. To her
the butterflies of the world had been all in all, and the working
bees had been a tribe apart with which she was no more called upon
to mix than is my lady's spaniel with the kennel hounds. But the
chance had come. She had consented to exhibit her allurements
before a man of business and the man of business had at once sat at
her feet. She had soon repented,--as the reader has seen. The
alliance had been distasteful to her. She had found that the man's
ways were in no wise like her ways,--and she had found also that
were she to become his wife, he certainly would not change. She had
looked about for a means of escape,--but as she did so she had
recognized the man's truth. No doubt he had been different from the
others, less gay in his attire, less jocund in his words, less
given to flattery and sport and gems and all the little
wickednesses which she had loved. But they, those others had, one
and all, struggled to escape from her. Through all the gems and
mirth and flattery there had been the same purpose. They liked the
softness of her hand, they liked the flutter of her silk, they
liked to have whispered in their ears the bold words of her
practised raillery. Each liked for a month or two to be her special
friend. But then, after that, each had deserted her as had done the
one before; till in each new alliance she felt that such was to be
her destiny, and that she was rolling a stone which would never
settle itself, straining for waters which would never come lip
high.
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