temper, hair, and eyes I meant to have, and was firmly resolved not
to do without?" He finds it is all wrong, and then comes the
tussle--'

'Do they marry and live happily?'

'Who? O, the supposed pair. I think he said--well, I really forget
what he said.'

'That _is_ stupid of you!' said the young lady with dismay.

'Yes.'

'But he's a satirist--I don't think I care about him now.'

'There you are just wrong. He is not. He is, as I believe, an
impulsive fellow who has been made to pay the penalty of his
rashness in some love affair.'

Thus ended the dialogue of Thursday, but Cytherea read the verses
again in private. On Friday her brother remarked that Springrove
had informed him he was going to leave Mr. Gradfield's in a
fortnight to push his fortunes in London.

An indescribable feeling of sadness shot through Cytherea's heart.
Why should she be sad at such an announcement as that, she thought,
concerning a man she had never seen, when her spirits were elastic
enough to rebound after hard blows from deep and real troubles as if
she had scarcely known them? Though she could not answer this
question, she knew one thing, she was saddened by Owen's news.