38
ETHEL CHURCHILL.
CHAPTER VI.
THE FÊTE AT SIR ROBERT WALPOLE'S CONTINUED.
Ladye, thy white brow is fair,
Beauty's morning light is there;
And thine eye is like a star,
Dark as those of midnight are:
Round thee satin robe is flung;
Pearls upon thy neck are hung:
Yet thou wearest silk and gem,
As thou hadst forgotten them.
Lovelier is the ray that lies
On thy lip, and in thine eyes.
Nothing more strongly marks the insufficiency of luxuries than the ease with which people grow accustomed to them; they are rather known by their want than by their presence. The word "blasé" has been coined expressly for the use of the upper classes.
Lady Marchmont had acquired much of that languid indifference, the most foreign to
