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Chapter 18

           HeremySibylwasborn,Ithought,withalover-liketenderness—hereshewoulddwellagainasmywife,amidthelovelyandbelovedsurroundingsofherchildhood—andweshouldbehappy—yes,weshouldbehappy,despiteallthedullandheartlesssocialdoctrinesofthemodernworld.Inthespaciousandbeautifuldrawing-roomIstoppedtolookoutfromthewindowsontheentrancingviewoflawnandwoodlandthatstretchedbeforeme—andasIlooked,awarmsenseofgratitudeandaffectionfilledmeforthefriendtowhosegoodofficesIowedthisfairdomain.Turning,Igraspedhimbythehand.

           "Itisallyourdoing,Lucio!"Isaid—"IfeelIcanneverthankyouenough!WithoutyouIshouldperhapsneverhavemetSibyl—Imightneverhaveheardofher,orofWillowsmere;andInevercouldhavebeenashappyasIamto-day!"

           "Oh,youarehappythen?"hequeriedwithalittlesmile—"Ifanciedyouwerenot!"

           "Well—IhavenotbeenashappyasIexpectedtobe;"Iconfessed—"Somethinginmysuddenaccessiontowealthseemstohavedraggedmedownratherthanliftedmeup——itisstrange——"

           "Itisnotstrangeatall"—heinterrupted—"onthecontraryitisverynatural.Asarulethemostmiserablepeopleintheworldaretherich."

           "Areyoumiserable,forinstance?"Iasked,smiling.

           Hiseyesrestedonmewithadarkanddrearypathos.

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