For, having no consolatory sense of happiness, such as encircles and makes a nest for lovers, he seeks to attain some stature, at least, by excesses of apparent devotion.

Lady Charlotte believed herself beloved at last.

She was about to strike thirty; and Rumour, stalking with a turban of cloud on her head,--enough that this shocking old celestial dowager, from condemnation had passed to pity of the dashing lady.

Beloved at last! After a while there is no question of our loving; but we thirst for love, if we have not had it.

The key of Lady Charlotte will come in the course of events.