But she didn't
shut her door in my face--it's hard to do that to a Duchess; which is one
of the few advantages of living naked in the street, as it were, with
only the strawberry leaves to clothe you. No, Sybil Eglington was a woman
who never had her chance. Your husband's forbears were difficult, my
dear. They didn't exactly draw you out. She needed drawing out; and her
husband drove her back into her corner, where she sulked rather till she
died--died alone at Wiesbaden, with a German doctor, a stray curate, and
a stuttering maid to wish her bon voyage. Yet I fancy she went glad
enough, for she had no memories, not even an affaire to repent of, and to
cherish. La, la! she wasn't so stupid, Sybil there, and she was an
ornament to her own sex and the despair of the other. His Serene Highness
Heinrich of Saxe-Gunden fancied the task of breaking that ice, and he was
an adept and an Apollo, but it broke his reputation instead.
"No doubt she is happy now. I shall probably never see!"
In spite of the poignant nature of the talk, Hylda could not but smile at
the last words.
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