"And all this," she said, "a good society woman must give up; and
for what? God help them in the time of life's bitter trials and
painful experience, which all must endure in some degree!" She spoke
with strong feeling. "On what arm can a woman lean, who has no
husband in the true sense? Is she strong enough, standing alone, for
life's great battles? What has she to sustain her, when all the
external support, received from pride, is swept away? Alas! Alas! Is
there a blinder folly than the pageantry of fashionable society? It
is the stage on a grander scale, glittering, gorgeous, fascinating
to the senses--but all a mere show, back from which the actors
retire, each with an individual consciousness, and the sad words
pressing to tremulous lips--'The heart knoweth its own bitterness.'"
Like ourselves, most of Delia's best friends were disappointed, and
when she returned to New York, no hearts followed her with tender
interest, except those of her own family. She had carried herself
with an air of too much self-consequence; or, if she came down to
the level of old friends and companions, it was with too evident a
feeling of condescension.
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