Rosa Campbell Praed

“ As for Beatrice herself, she lived in her part. She was no longer Beatrice Brett; she was the Duchess of Malfi. She was not the young American actress about to make an ambitious venture which should raise her to giddy heights of success, or send her tottering down to join the crowd of failures. She was not the Beatrice who lay on the sofa in her little study, and looked out on the trees in Regent's Park. She was not the Beatrice who paced the boards of the Dionysion, or waited at the wings for her cue, or stood patiently under the hands of designer and dressmaker. ”

“ Lendon, the truth is that I am devoted heart and soul to some one else."
"Some one else!" Lendon exclaimed, thrilling with doubt and dread.
"Yes; some one worthy of my devotion. I have been constantly in his company during the past weeks. I have studied his character in many phases. He has his faults, but he is greater than his faults; and I admire him in spite of them—nay, because of them. That is how one ought to love, is it not, Mr. Lendon?"
"Beatrice! it is not like you to play with a man's heart in this way." ”

“ Lendon exclaimed in the full rapture of the sincerest conviction, already proud of the anticipated triumph.
"I don't think about that now—oh, hardly at all! I only think about her. I feel as if she would be looking down on me from that heaven to which she has gone. I think of her as a real woman. I feel her reality. Do you know, Mr. Lendon, I sometimes fancy in a half-dreamy sort of way that I shall feel her soul possessing me; so that I shall make her live again in me? Do you think me extravagant, absurd?"
"I think you have the very soul of an artist," he said. ”

“ Countess Adrian looked at him steadily for a moment or two before she replied. "Suppose," she said, "that the man I loved, the man whom I knew would satisfy all the requirements of my being, for whom I had poured forth all that I have to give—what could never be taken back and given to another—suppose that he had no love to give me in return?"
"Impossible, Countess," said Lendon, "unless"——
"Unless?" she repeated.
"Unless he were devoted heart and soul to another woman."
"There is the hazard of the game," she said calmly. ”

“ Elsie turned fiercely upon Blake. Her eyes were flashing; her bosom heaving.
"What right have you to say that I was beaten? You said that I—that I cared for you. What reason did I give you for thinking so? Wasn't I playing the game, too? Do you think I have fallen so low as to give my heart to a man who—who has shown me that he despises me. I despise you, Mr. Blake; I hate you."
Blake stood perfectly immovable. "I am glad of that," he said quietly. "I wish you to hate me. But you are quite wrong in the other thing. I do not despise you."
"Why—why?" stammered Elsie. ”

“ Mr. Lendon, how would one feel, I wonder, encased in some one else's body? Would one keep its consciousness of identity? and, if so, what an amusing sense of paradox would run through all experience; or would it be a mere confused blending of personalities—a bewildering jumble of past and present impressions—a sort of battle between spirit and flesh—a mystery without a clue? What do you think?"
"How can I form an idea of what is absolutely outside experience?"
"Oh! but it need not be, Did you not hear Maddox Challis say that such an Avatar was quite possible?" ”