e, Mark was lamentably deficient in
worldly wisdom. He never saw the obstacles that would have daunted
others. Could any thing be more improbable than that the most triumphant
beauty of the season should seriously incline to share the long up-hill
struggle of a rising barrister? Those dull Temple-chambers are lucky
enough if the sun condescends to visit them at rare intervals in his
journey westward. But Waring's own singleness of purpose beguiled him
more effectually than the most inordinate vanity could have done.
Putting character out of the question, he thought a woman could only
derogate by allying herself to one of inferior birth; and he knew his
own blood to be nearly equal to Miss Tresilyan's. He was right so
far--if she had only loved him she would have subscribed readily to
every article of his simple, knightly creed. The last idea that entered
his mind was, that she could have stooped so low as to trifle with him.
It was the old mistake. We measure other people's feelings by the
intensity of our own, and think it hard when we meet with
disappointment. Yet a certain misgiving, that he did not like to
analyze, kept him from bringing the question to an issue till the day
before his departure. Then he told her frankly what his prospects were,
and asked her to share them.

Now "the Refuser" was so used to seeing men commit themselves in this
way on the very shortest notice, and without the faintest encouragement,
that the situation had ceased to afford her much excitement: a proposal
no more made her nervous than file-firing does a thoroughly-broken
charger. For once, however, she felt uncomfortable and vexed with
herself, though she did not guess the extent of the harm she had done.
Nothing could be kinder or gentler than her answer, but nothing could be
more decisive. On the cold, smooth rock there was not a cleft or a
trailing weed for despair to cling to in its drowning agony. So the hope
of Mark Waring's life went down there without a cry or a struggle--as it
is fitting the hope of a strong heart should die--into the depths of the
great sea that never will give up its dead.

The lover of the present day is rather a curious study immediately after
he has encountered a defeat or disappointment. Sometimes the phase is a
mild melancholy. I remember a case of this sort not very long ago. The
reflections on things in general that flowed constantly from that man's
lips for the space of about a fortnight were incred