“I saw his face in a mirror. A constant attendant at court, he had the mortification to see every one promoted but himself, and thus bewails his ill-luck. ” “What?” “That’s the devil of it!” “Devil of what?. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind.
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