CHAPTER XXIII.
'A YOUNG LAMB'S HEART AMONG THE FULL-GROWN FLOCKS.' For three most happy days Mary rejoiced in her lover's society, Maulevrier was with them everywhere, by brookside and fell, on the lake, in the gardens, in the billiard-room, playing propriety with admirable patience.

But this could not last for ever.

A man who has to win name and fortune and a home for his young wife cannot spend all his days in the primrose path.

Fortunes and reputations are not made in dawdling beside a mountain stream, or watching the play of sunlight and shadow on a green hill-side; unless, indeed, one were a new Wordsworth, and even then fortune and renown are not quickly made.
And again, Maulevrier, who had been a marvel of good-nature and contentment for the last eight weeks, was beginning to be tired of this lovely Lakeland.

Just when Lakeland was daily developing into new beauty, Maulevrier began to feel an itching for London, where he had a comfortable nest in the Albany, and which was to his mind a metropolis expressly created as a centre or starting point for Newmarket, Epsom, Ascot and Goodwood.
So there came a morning upon which Mary had to say good-bye to those two companions who had so blest and gladdened her life.