She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. Anna looked at her, startled. Hitherto, no visiters had been permitted to see him. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. “He wants to settle something on you, I believe. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. “Marriage and mothering,” said Ann Veronica, with her mind crystallizing out again as the lark dropped to the nest in the turf.
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