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Updated: June 19, 2025
The long evenings were lonely in her room, but it was safe there, and sitting before her fire writing to Constance, or thinking of her, and reading again one of the small collection of books she had brought from Eyethorne, the hours would pass not too slowly.
She is beautiful, I know, because I saw her; and I was not mistaken when I knew that her beauty would enslave you." "She was beautiful, Mary, and I hope that she will be so again. Now she is only a wreck of the Constance you saw at Eyethorne. But more beautiful than you she never was, Mary." "Flattery, flattery, flattery!" "Which of those two flowers are you like, and which is she like?
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