She could not but believe
that he must be sick of his blunder by this time; and she had more
than a hope that he would presently write her a letter beginning
"Dear Friend." Something subtly tragic in the separation was
a great support to her, a sad misunderstanding. To have been jilted
would have been intolerable. But he never wrote that letter beginning
"Dear Friend."
For two years Miss Winchelsea could not go to see her friends,
in spite of the reiterated invitations of Mrs. Sevenoaks--it became
full Sevenoaks in the second year. Then one day near the Easter
rest she felt lonely and without a soul to understand her in the
world, and her mind ran once more on what is called Platonic
friendship. Fanny was clearly happy and busy in her new sphere
of domesticity, but no doubt HE had his lonely hours. Did he ever
think of those days in Rome--gone now beyond recalling? No one
had understood her as he had done; no one in all the world. It
would be a sort of melancholy pleasure to talk to him again, and
what harm could it do? Why should she deny herself? That night
she wrote a sonnet, all but the last two lines of the octave--which
would not come, and the next day she composed a graceful little note
to tell Fanny she was coming down.
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