Bettina would not be happy
in my sphere of life, nor could I live in hers, so what was there for me
to do but to keep my engagement with Mary Hamilton and, if I could, lose
my love for Bettina.
* * * * *
The queen's ball was to be held that night at St. James's Palace, and
I was glad to have the walk from Whitehall across the park. The night was
perfect. A slim moon hung in the west, considerately withholding a part
of her light that the stars might twinkle the brighter in their vain
effort to rival Bettina's eyes. The night wind came to me, odor-laden
from the roses, only to show me how poor a thing it was compared with
Bettina's breath upon my cheek and its sweetness in my nostrils. Now and
then a belated bird sang its sleepy song, only to remind me of the melody
of her lullabies, and the cooing dove moaned out its plaintive call lest
I forget the pain in her breast while selfishly remembering the ache in
my own. Then I thought of what the Good Book says about "bright clouds,"
and I prayed that my pain might make me a better man and might lead me to
help Bettina in the days of her sorrowing, which I knew were at hand.
Soon after I had kissed the hands of the king and the queen, I met
George's brother, Count Anthony Hamilton. He had never been friendly to
his younger brother, and had ceased to look upon him as a brother at all
after his disgraceful reformation.
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