Harry
Musgrave might not tire, and the breadth and diversity of the young
man's knowledge and interests surprised her.
One evening after some especially amusing conversation with a travelled
doctor, who was great in the scientific study of botany and beetles, she
said to Elizabeth when they were alone, "What a pity! what a grievous
pity! There is no position brains and energy can win that Mr. Harry
Musgrave might not raise himself to if his health were equal to his
mental capacity. And with what dignity and fortitude he bears his
condemnation to a desultory, obscure existence! I had no idea there
could be so much sweet patience in a man. Do you anticipate that it will
be always so?"
"Harry is very happy now, and I do not look forward much or far,"
Elizabeth said quietly. "People say men are so different from women, but
after all they must be more like women than like anything else. So I try
sometimes to put myself in Harry's place, and I know there will be
fluctuations--perhaps, even a sense of waste and blankness now and then,
and a waking up of regret. But he has no envious littleness of mind and
no irritability of temper: when he is feeling ill he will feel low. But
our life need not be dull or restricted, and he has naturally a most
enjoying humor."
"And he will have you--I think, after all, Elizabeth, you have found
your vocation--to love and to serve; a blessed vocation for those called
to it, but full of sorrows to those who take it up when the world and
pride have disappointed them.
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