6. DECEMBER THE FIFTHOf the many contradictory particulars constituting a woman's
heart, two had shown their vigorous contrast in Cytherea's bosom
just at this time.
It was a dark morning, the morning after old Mr. Springrove's
visit to Miss Aldclyffe, which had terminated as Edward had
intended. Having risen an hour earlier than was usual with her,
Cytherea sat at the window of an elegant little sitting-room on the
ground floor, which had been appropriated to her by the kindness or
whim of Miss Aldclyffe, that she might not be driven into that
lady's presence against her will. She leant with her face on her
hand, looking out into the gloomy grey air. A yellow glimmer from
the flapping flame of the newly-lit fire fluttered on one side of
her face and neck like a butterfly about
