Bungay Castle: A Novel. v. 1/2Bonhote, Mrs. (Elizabeth)
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Bungay Castle: A Novel. v. 1/2
Bonhote, Mrs. (Elizabeth)
English fiction -- 18th century
Roseline, too much terrified to contend farther at that time, heard
him with silent despondency, and hoped the cruel contest would be
ended by her death; for, as she never before had fainted she imagined
it was a prelude to her dissolution. Sir Phillip, to reconcile her,
if possible, to his ambitious views, argued the matter with that
sophistry and art which in all ages have been practised with too much
success; assured her of every flattering indulgence that a youthful
heart could desire desire,--painted her future prospects in colours
most likely to captivate the attention and ensnare the senses; and
even went so far as to promise, till the end of the month, he would
not mention the Baron's name to her again, but insisted on her
receiving his attentions with complacency, and desired her not to
make a confidant of any one in a matter of so much importance: he
likewise informed her, he had forbidden her mother's talking to her
on the subject, and concluded this painful interview with telling
her, he trusted her gentleness, duty, and affection, would determine
her to oblige and gratify her anxious and tender father in the first
and most prevailing wishes of his heart. He recommended her to retire
to her own room, and promised to find a proper excuse for her absence.
After leading her to the door of his apartment, he embraced and left her.
Sir Philip de Morney, though in many respects a kind father and a
good husband, was proud and aspiring. These passions, as he advanced
in years, gained additional ascendancy over his mind, and as he saw
his children approaching that period when it became necessary to
think of an establishment for them, he was more and more anxious to
see them placed among the great.
His lady, equally attached to the fascinating influence of birth
and splendor, had neither inclination nor power to counteract his
designs, nor to dispute with him on a point to which her own wishes
tended. She was too partial, too fond of her children not to think
they were calculated to shine in the most exalted situations, and
that they deserved every blessing, every indulgence which rank of
fortune could bestow. She had married a man much older than herself,
and was happy; therefore she saw no reasonable objection in the
difference of age between her daughter and the Baron, whose birth
carried an irresistible passport to her heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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