That he had had no better success grieved him
to the heart. All who wished Basil well, desired that he should
marry a lady of his own rank, his own religion, and could he but
have won a wife such as Heliodora!
'Alas!' sighed Marcian, 'it was too much to hope. How could you be
other than cold to him? Had you deigned, thrice gracious lady, to
set your beauty, your gifts, in contest with his memory of that
other!'
In every man that approached her, Heliodora suspected a selfish aim,
but it was seldom that she talked with one whose subtlety seemed the
equal of her own. The little she knew of Marcian had predisposed her
to regard him as a cold and melancholy nature, quite uninteresting;
she eyed him now with her keenest scrutiny, puzzled by his story,
vainly seeking its significance.
'Your friend complained to you of my coldness?' she said distantly.
'He scarce spoke of you. I knew too well with what hope he came
here. When he found it vain, he turned away in bitterness.'
This sounded like truth to one who knew Basil. After a moment's
reflection, Heliodora made another inquiry, and in a tone of less
indifference.
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