My mother is not like other women." "Your mother is a famous woman," rejoined Mr.Clifford; "you ought to be proud of her." For as years passed on Felicita had attained some portion of her ambition.

In Riversborough it seemed as if she was the first writer of the age; and though in London she had not won one of those extraordinary successes which place an author suddenly at the top of the ladder, she was steadily climbing upward, and was well known for her good and conscientious work.

The books she wrote were clever, though cynical and captious; yet here and there they contained passages of pathos and beauty which insured a fair amount of favor.

Her work was always welcome and well paid, so well that she could live comfortably on the income she made for herself, without falling back on her marriage settlement.
Without an undue strain upon her mental powers she could earn a thousand a year, which was amply sufficient for her small household.
Though Roland Sefton had lavished upon his high-born wife all the pomp and luxury he considered fitting to the position she had left for him, Felicita's own tastes and habits were simple.

Her father, Lord Riversford, had been but a poor baron with an encumbered estate, and his only child had been brought up in no extravagant ways.