CHAPTER IX. SANS SOUCI. "Alcun non può saper da chi sia amato Però c' ha i veri e i finti amici a lato, Che mostran tutti una medesma fede." Ariosto. SANS SOUCI is a great, square, red-brick building of no artistic and little architectural merit. It stands in an isolated and exposed position on the summit of a bleak hill without a tree near it. It is comfortable enough inside; but its external appearance is far from prepossessing. Mrs. Waining is well satisfied with it. At first she longed for something grander and more imposing, but she has gradually got to like it. Subject at times to fits of melancholy, and perhaps, remorse, she finds a strange consolation in the dreariness of the spot. Occasionally, when more than usually despondent, she would wander away from her home and not return till late at night, and then always with red eyes, as though she had been weeping. These fits of sorrow only troubled her now and then; at other times she was cheerful enough. She was of a cold, haughty, unbending disposition, and, it must be confessed, tyrannised not a little over her husband. She was, however, as a rule kind and gentle towards her daughter-the young lady whom Ross loved The first Friday in February was a cold and disagreeable day. Dark, lowering clouds obscured the sun, and that peculiar and by no means pleasant perfect stillness which is so often the precursor of a storm reigned on all sides. Though cold, as we have said, there was, at the same time, a certain wearying oppression in the air which was almost painful; at least, Mrs. Waining found it so, and yet she, as a rule, cared little what the weather might be. She was generally content to take it as she found it. She was having an afternoon stroll in the garden. She had not been many minutes there when she was joined by her daughter, who was not feeling very well this afternoon and came out to see whether a little gentle exercise would do her good. "I don't suppose many people will come to-day," said she to her mother, after they had taken a turn or two in silence. "Why not, my dear?" inquired Mrs. Waining, somewhat sharply. "They won't like to come out in the storm." "Pooh! there's no storm yet, and they can easily manage to get here before it commences and to stay here while it lasts, which won't be so very long. I am sure I never care for rain," were her words, spoken somewhat irritably. you feel a "Nor do I as a rule; but don't certain lassitude and despondency to-day? I seem quite unable to give my mind to any serious thoughts, and any exertion is irksome to me. healthy." The weather is decidedly un "I agree with you; it is unhealthy weather, and most disagreeable. But tell me, what do you want to give your mind to serious thoughts for? What has happened, or is likely to happen?" The daughter hung her head. "You know, mama, Mr.-" "Mr. Jameson ? " "Yes; well he has-has-" "Proposed ?" "He has proposed." "Then I congratulate you, my dear. When did it take place the proposal, I mean ?" "But, mama, I have refused him." "Refused him! Nonsense, child; you can't be serious." "I assure you 66 My dear Constance, you don't know your own mind." "I cannot marry him." Mrs. Waining looked at her in amazement. "What do you mean ?" she asked. "I cannot marry him," she said again. “I do not love him." "Quelle idée! Throw away so advantageous VOL. III. 0 a chance merely because you do not love him? My dear, I am surprised at you." The young lady blushed deeply. "I have been trying to think the matter over," she said, "but-but-” "I cannot conceive what you can have to think about it at all for?" "There is the other," murmured the daughter in a whisper. "I-love-him." "What other?" "The young-young-man we metabroad," she stammered. Mrs. Waining laughed. "Do you mean to pretend you care for a young man a mere boy-whom you saw once, and who, though several months have elapsed since you met him, has never put in an appearance here? Why, my dear, I don't even know his name. Tell me now, if he cared a pin for you, would he not have come to see you? He must have returned to England long ago. "He has had a terrible misfortune," answered the daughter, simply. "How do you know that?" was the mother's quick rejoinder, "you have not been |