Kennedy. But,
nevertheless, he had his consolations. These were reflections which
had in them much of melancholy satisfaction. He had not been despised
by the woman to whom he had told his love. She had not shown him that
she thought him to be unworthy of her. She had not regarded his love
as an offence. Indeed, she had almost told him that prudence alone
had forbidden her to return his passion. And he had kissed her, and
had afterwards parted from her as a dear friend. I do not know why
there should have been a flavour of exquisite joy in the midst of his
agony as he thought of this;--but it was so. He would never kiss her
again. All future delights of that kind would belong to Mr. Kennedy,
and he had no real idea of interfering with that gentleman in the
fruition of his privileges. But still there was the kiss,--an
eternal fact. And then, in all respects except that of his love, his
visit to Loughlinter had been pre-eminently successful. Mr. Monk had
become his friend, and had encouraged him to speak during the next
session,--setting before him various models, and prescribing for him
a course of reading. Lord Brentford had become intimate with him. He
was on pleasant terms with Mr. Palliser and Mr. Gresham. And as for
Mr. Kennedy,--he and Mr.
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