Youth is a blunder; manhood a struggle; old age a regret.
B. Disraeli, "Coningsby."
Two or three days later the east wind was still blowing, and the chilled
sunshine still feebly shining down upon the nipped lilac and laburnum
blossoms. The garden at Walpole Lodge was shorn of half its customary
beauty, yet to Helen Romer, pacing slowly up and down its gravel walks,
it had never possibly presented a fairer appearance. For Mrs. Romer had
won her battle. All that she had waited for so long and striven for so
hard was at length within her grasp. Her grandfather was dead, his money
had been all left to her, her engagement to Captain Kynaston was an
acknowledged fact, and she herself was staying as an honoured and welcome
guest in her future mother-in-law's house. Everything in the present and
the future seemed to smile upon her, and yet there were drawbacks--as are
there not in most earthly delights?--to the full enjoyment of her
happiness.
For instance, there was that unreasonable and unaccountable codicil to
her grandfather's will, of which no one had been able to discern either
the sense or the meaning, and which stated that, should his beloved
grand-daughter, Helen Romer, be still unmarried within two months of the
date of his death, the whole of the previous bequests and legacies were
to be revoked and cancelled, and, with the exception of five thousand
pounds which she would retain, the whole bulk of his fortune was to
devolve upon the Crown, for the special use of the pensioners of
Greenwich and Chelsea Hospitals.
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