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Updated: June 29, 2025
Lesbia's beauty, Lesbia's elegance seemed to make success certain and so I dreamt my dream which may never be fulfilled. 'What was your dream, grandmother? May I know all about it? 'That was the secret I spoke of just now. Yes, Mary, you may know, for I fear the dream will never be realised. I wanted my Lesbia to become Lord Hartfield's wife.
Sometimes the strain was a love-song, brief, passionate as the cry of a soul in pain; sometimes the verses were bitter and cynical; sometimes full of tenderest simplicity, telling of childhood, and youth and purity; sometimes dark with hidden meanings, grim, awful, cold with the chilling breath of the charnel-house. Sometimes Lesbia's heart beat a little faster as Mr.
There were no doubt half-a-dozen, or more, in the list of elder sons, who were fairly eligible. But this young man was the Achilles in the rank and file of chivalry, and her soul yearned to have him and no other for her darling. Her soul yearned to him with a tenderness which was not all on Lesbia's account.
The caressing tone in which the Emperor Hadrian addresses his soul is very much like that of an old person talking with a grandchild or some other pet: "Animula, vagula, blandula, Hospes comesque corporis." "Dear little, flitting, pleasing sprite, The body's comrade and its guest." How like the language of Catullus to Lesbia's sparrow!
But as the season advanced Lesbia's letters to her grandmother grew briefer mere hurried scrawls dashed off while the carriage was at the door, or while her maid was brushing her hair. Lady Maulevrier divined, with the keen instinct of love, that she counted for very little in Lesbia's life, now that the whirligig of society, the fret and fever of fashion, had begun.
What were Lesbia's feelings in the early morning after the last day of the regatta, as she slowly paced the lavender walk in the Ladies' Garden, alone? for happily Mr. Smithson was not so early a riser as the Grasmere-bred damsel, and she had this fresh morning hour to herself.
She had made an informal début in a very select circle, a circle in which everybody was more or less chic, or chien, or zinc, and she was tasting all the sweets of success. But in none of her letters was there any mention of Lord Hartfield. He was not in the little great world by the blue tideless sea. There was no talk of Lesbia's return.
Lady Maulevrier wrote her consent to the extension of Lesbia's visit, and by return of post came a letter from Lesbia which seemed brimming over with love, and which comforted the grandmother's wounded heart. 'Lady Kirkbank and I are both agreed, dearest, that you must join us at Cannes, wrote Lesbia. 'At your age it is very wrong of you to spend a winter in our horrible climate.
And now on this glorious June day, this Thursday of Thursdays, the Ascot Cup day, for the first time since Lesbia's début, Lady Kirkbank had occasion to smile upon an admirer whose pretensions were worthy of the highest consideration. Mr.
No, there was nothing morbid about Lesbia's nature; she was an honest, well-meaning girl, who had had a great disappointment in her life; she meant to outlive it if she could, to be as happy as possible.
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