 in this world
who do not get what they wish most--and how many people there are--"
Ursula paused, involved in her own antithesis, and Sophy ended it for
her with a sigh.

"Who do--and the one is no happier than the other, most times, little
Ursula; but you don't understand that, and as you are going to be one
of the blessed ones, you need not take to making reflections; that is my
privilege, my dear."

"Oh, Cousin Sophy, why were not you one of those blessed ones too?"
cried Ursula, clasping her arms suddenly round her kind friend. This, be
it understood, was after the breakfast was over, and when, in the deep
gloom which generally concludes a wedding day, everybody had gone home.
The two were in a magnificent large bedchamber in Portland Place, in the
vast silent mansion of the Copperheads, where at present there was
nothing more cheerful than the bridegroom's soft-eyed mother, taking
herself dreadfully to task for not being happy, and trying not to cry,
though there was to be a great dinner and entertainment that night.

"Don't you know?" said Sophy, putting her aside with a certain proud
coldness, and a momentary laugh, "he I loved proved false; that is to
say, in simple language, he turned out so poor a creature that it is
very good of me not to despise humanity for his sweet sake. Never mind.
If all had gone well, and he had been a real man instead of the sham
image of one, I don't suppose I should have ever been among the blessed
ones. Anne is, who never thought of such mysteries at all; and so you
will be, my little Ursula--very happy. I am sure of it--though how you
can manage to be happy, my dear, marrying a man who is not a good
Churchman, it is not for me to say."

"Cousin Sophy, have I been brought up in a way to make me so fond of
Churchmen?" said Ursula solemnly. She could not have told how much or
how little she knew about her father's behaviour, and the "shock to his
mental system;" but vaguely and by instinct there was a great deal that
she did know.

"You have been behind the scenes too much pe