She is
not of a disposition to find resources in the conventional
gaieties and excitements of London. They would only make the
first oppression of this lamentable marriage fall the heavier on
her. I dread the beginning of her new life more than words can
tell, but I see some hope for her if she travels--none if she
remains at home.
It is strange to look back at this latest entry in my journal, and
to find that I am writing of the marriage and the parting with
Laura, as people write of a settled thing. It seems so cold and
so unfeeling to be looking at the future already in this cruelly
composed way. But what other way is possible, now that the time
is drawing so near? Before another month is over our heads she
will be HIS Laura instead of mine! HIS Laura! I am as little able
to realise the idea which those two words convey--my mind feels
almost as dulled and stunned by it--as if writing of her marriage
were like writing of her death.
December 1st.--A sad, sad day--a day that I have no heart to
describe at any length. After weakly putting it off last night, I
was obliged to speak to her this morning of Sir Percival's
proposal about the wedding tour.
In the full conviction that I should be with her wherever she
went, the poor child--for a child she is still in many things--was
almost happy at the prospect of seeing the wonders of Florence and
Rome and Naples.
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