She had revelled in flirtations; she had triumphed in the
power of her beauty; but she had known more than one disappointment of
her fairest hopes, and she had not won the prize in the great lottery
of fashionable life--a wealthy and patrician husband.
Her nine-and-twentieth birthday had passed; and contemplating herself
earnestly in her glass, she was fain to confess that something of the
brilliancy of her beauty had faded.
"I am getting wan and sallow," she said to herself; "what is to become
of me if I do not marry?"
The prospect was indeed a sorry one.
Lydia Graham possessed an income of two hundred a year, inherited from
her mother: but such an income was the merest pittance for a young lady
with Miss Graham's tastes. Her brother was a captain of an expensive
regiment, selfish and extravagant, and by no means inclined to open his
purse for his sister's benefit.
She had no home; but lived sometimes with one wealthy relation,
sometimes with another--always admired, always elegantly dressed; but
not always happy.
Amidst all Miss Graham's matrimonial disappointments, she had endured
none more bitter than that which she had felt when she read the
announcement of Sir Oswald Eversleigh's marriage in the "Times"
newspaper.
She had met the rich baronet very frequently in society. She had
visited at Raynham with her brother.
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