they might, in time, forget Her.

Her chagrin was all the keener at losing this last aspirant to her
hand in that she had almost persuaded herself that she was as fond
of him as she was likely to be of anybody, and that on the whole she
had better marry him and save his life and reason.

Fortunately she had not communicated this gleam of hope by letter,
feeling, I suppose, that she would like to see for herself the light
of joy breaking over his pale cheek. The scene would have been
rather pretty and touching, but meantime the Worm had turned and
despatched a letter to the Majestic at the quarantine station,
telling her that he had found a less reluctant bride in the person
of her intimate friend Miss Rosa Van Brunt; and so Francesca's dream
of duty and sacrifice was over.

Salemina says she was somewhat constrained for a week and a trifle
cynical for a fortnight, but that afterwards her spirits mounted on
ever ascending spirals to impossible heights, where they have since
remained. It appears from all this that although she was piqued at
being taken at her word, her heart was not in the least damaged. It
never was one of those fragile things which have to be wrapped in
cotton, and preserved from the slightest blow--Francesca's heart.
It is made of excellent stout, durable material, and I often tell
her with the care she takes of it, and the moderate strain to which
it is subjected, it ought to be as good as new a hundred years
hence.

As for me, the scene of my own love-story is laid in America and
England, and has nought to do with Edinburgh. It is far from