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CHAPTER XXXI.
"A WORTHLESS WOMAN, MERE COLD CLAY."
Neither Lydia Graham nor her brother were quick to recover from the
disappointment caused by the untimely fate of Lionel Dale. Miss Graham
endeavoured to sustain her failing spirits with the hope that in
Douglas she might find a wealthier prize than his brother; but Douglas
was yet to be enslaved by those charms which Lydia herself felt were on
the wane, and by fascinations which twelve years of fashionable
existence had rendered somewhat stale even to the fair Lydia's most
ardent admirers.
It was very bitter--the cup had been so near her lips, when an adverse
destiny had dashed it from her. The lady's grief was painfully sincere.
She did not waste one lamentation on her lover's sad fate, but she most
bitterly regretted her own loss of a rich husband.
She watched and hoped day after day for the promised visit from Douglas
Dale, but he did not come. Every day during visiting hours she wore her
most becoming toilets; she arranged her small drawing-room with the
studied carelessness of an elegant woman; she seated herself in her
most graceful attitudes every time the knocker heralded the advent of a
caller; but it was all so much wasted labour. The only guest whom she
cared to see was not among those morning visitors; and Lydia's heart
began to be oppressed by a sense of despair.
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