The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1882-06-24
CHAPTER III.
AFTER THE HONEYMOON.

Three months had elapsed since the
midnight interview in Horace Mar
graves chambers-three months, and
the Opera House was opened for the
season, and three new tenors, and two
sopranos, and basso- baritone had APP
peared under the classic prOscenium of
Her Majesty's Theater; the novel of the
season had been circulated by Nude;
Rotten Row was gay with amazonan
equestrians and bi0se life -guardsmen,
with long amber whiskers, as yet I'M
trameled by red tape; moss roses were
selling on the dusty pavements of the
West End streets; and Covent Garden
was all .a-bloom with artistically ar
ranged bouquets of rich tropical flowers,
gorgeous in color and delicious in per-
fume; London, in short, was in the full
flOod-tide of the season, when Mr.. and
Mrs. Henry Dalton returned from their
honeymoon visit to the Cumberland lake
district, and took up their abode in the
small house in Hartford street, fur
nished by Ellinor before her marriage.
Hers has been a short courtship; all
the sweet uncertainties, the doubts, the
dreams, the fears, the hope, which
make up the pOetical prologue to love-
match, have been wanting in this mar
riage, ordained by the will of her late
uncle-this marriage, which is founded
on esteem and not on affection; this
marriage, into which she had entered
on the generous impulse of an impetu-
Gus nature that has never learned to re-
! press emotion.
Is she happy Can this cold esteem,
| this calm respect which she feels for the
man chosen for her by another, satisfy
the ardent heart of the romantic girl?
She has been already married six
weeks, and she has not seen Horace
Margrave, the only friend she has in
England, except, of course, her hus-
band, since her wedding-day. Not
since that sunny May morning on which
he took her icy hand in his and gave
her, as her guardian and the represent
alive of her dead father, into her hus-
bands arms. She remembered that on
that day when his hand touched hers, it
was cold and powerless as her own, and
that his listless face was even paler than
usual under the spring sunshine stream
| ing in at the church windows; but, in
spite of this, he had done the honors
of the breakfast table, toasted the bride
and bridegroom, cOmplimented the
| bridesmaids, and fascinated everybody,
with all the finished grace and marvel
Gus ease of the all-accomplished Horace
Margrave. And if Ellinor had ever
thought that she had right for auld
lang syne, for her dear fathers sake.
for her own lovely face, to be anything
more or dearer to Mr.. Margrave than
the most indifferent of his clients; that
thought was dispelled by the gentle
manly sang f1'Oid of his adeu, as the
four paving bays started off on the first
stage to Windermere.
1t is the end of June. and she is seat
ed in the small drawing-room, awaiting
the advent of morning visitors. They
have been week in town, and Horace
Margrave has not yet called upon them.
| She has weary air this morning, and
she seems to seek in vain for something
to occupy her. Now she strolls to the
open piano, and plays few chords, or
a brilliant run, or softly touches the
notes of some pensive air. and sings
some Italian words; now she takes up
an uncut novel from the table, and reads
a p&ge or two here and there, wherever
the book opens; she walks to an en-
broidery frame, and takes a great deal
of trouble in selecting and comparing
woods, and threading needles, but when
this is accomplished, she does not do
three stitches; then she loiters listlessly
about the room, looking at the pict-
ures, chiefly valuable engrayings, which
adorn the pale silver-gray walls; but at
last she is so utterly weary, that she
filings herself into deem esy 'hsi,