Ease Not Peace

Captain Lennox was easy, kind, and
gentlemanly; sate with his wife in her dressing-room an hour or
two every day; played with his little boy for another hour, and
lounged away the rest of his time at his club, when he was not
engaged out to dinner. Just before Margaret had recovered from
her necessity for quiet and repose--before she had begun to feel
her life wanting and dull--Edith came down-stairs and resumed her
usual part in the household; and Margaret fell into the old habit
of watching, and admiring, and ministering to her cousin.

She gladly took all charge of the semblances of duties off Edith's
hands; answered notes, reminded her of engagements, tended her
when no gaiety was in prospect, and she was consequently rather
inclined to fancy herself ill. But all the rest of the family
were in the full business of the London season, and Margaret was
often left alone. Then her thoughts went back to Milton, with a
strange sense of the contrast between the life there, and here.
She was getting surfeited of the eventless ease in which no
struggle or endeavour was required. She was afraid lest she
should even become sleepily deadened into forgetfulness of
anything beyond the life which was lapping her round with luxury.
There might be toilers and moilers there in London, but she never
saw them; the very servants lived in an underground world of
their own, of which she knew neither the hopes nor the fears;
they only seemed to start into existence when some want or whim
of their master and mistress needed them. There was a strange
unsatisfied vacuum in Margaret's heart and mode of life; and,
once when she had dimly hinted this to Edith, the latter, wearied
with dancing the night before, languidly stroked Margaret's cheek
as she sat by her in the old attitude,--she on a footstool by the
sofa where Edith lay.