Is it fate? Or is it that in the end there's a--a
solution of sympathy, a break somewhere, so that you stop just short of
finding them absolutely satisfying?"
Neither of her friends answered her. Lady Richard did not deal in
speculations; Fanny preferred not to discuss, even indirectly, her
sister's feelings towards Marchmont; they bred in her a mixture of
resentment and relief too complicated for public reference. It was
certainly true enough that he and May got no nearer to one another; if
the break referred to existed somewhere, its effect was very plain; how
could it display itself more strikingly than in making the lady prefer
Quisante's weaselly flirtation to the accomplished and enviable homage
of Weston Marchmont? And preferred it she had, for one hour of life at
least. Fanny felt the anger which we suffer when another shows
indifference towards what we should consider great good fortune.
But indifference was not truly May's attitude towards Marchmont. Nobody,
she honestly thought, could be indifferent to him, to his handsomeness,
his grace and refinement, the fine temper of his mind, his indubitable
superiority of intellect; in everything he was immeasurably above the
ordinary run of her acquaintance, the well-groomed inconsiderables of
whom she knew such a number.
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