"
So says the poet, but alas! the clouds soon melt into the grey air of
the world, and some of us, before our course is finished, forget that
they ever were. And yet which is the shadow of the truth--those
dreams, and hopes, and aspirations of our younger life, or the
corruption with which the world cakes our souls?
Ida knew that she could not expect her father to sympathise with her;
she knew that to his judgment, circumstances being the same, and both
suitors being equally sound in wind and limb, the choice of one of
them should, to a large extent, be a matter to be decided by the
exterior considerations of wealth and general convenience.
However, she had made her choice, made it suddenly, but none the less
had made it. It lay between her father's interest and the interest of
the family at large and her own honour as a woman--for the mere empty
ceremony of marriage which satisfies society cannot make dishonour an
honourable thing. She had made her choice, and the readers of her
history must judge if that choice was right or wrong.
After dinner Harold came again as he had promised. The Squire was not
in the drawing-room when he was shown in.
Ida rose to greet him with a sweet and happy smile upon her face, for
in the presence of her lover all her doubts and troubles vanished like
a mist.
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