Clemence : $b the schoolmistress of WavelandBabcock, Retta B.
General
Clemence : $b the schoolmistress of Waveland
Babcock, Retta B.
Boarding schools -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
"The other, Geoffrey Westbourne--how shall I describe him? Tall and
commanding in figure, with glossy purple-black hair, and the midnight
eyes that matched it, he was eminently handsome, and, as everybody
agreed, a splendid conversationalist. Notwithstanding his acknowledged
superiority to all others, and the fact that he was petted and caressed
by every one, I felt an instinctive repugnance to him, that for a long
time I tried in vain to overcome. Perhaps it was because I had heard him
so highly spoken of, that I was ready to find fault. However that maybe,
I felt a secret antipathy to this man. Would I had been allowed to
follow the warning conveyed in these first impressions, what a world of
misery I had then escaped!
"'Well, how did you like him?' queried my aunt, after our first meeting.
'Isn't he splendid?'
"'Not to my taste,' was my reply. 'To tell the truth, I was not very
agreeably impressed by your Mr. Westbourne.'
"'Shocking!' exclaimed the astonished lady, with upraised hands. 'That
girl will surely be an old maid. She has no taste. Not like him, when he
is already deep in love with you? Ulrica, this is arrant coquetry.'
"She had reason to think so afterwards, for the subject of our
conversation soon became a constant visitor at the house. He _was_
handsome, talented and agreeable, besides, all my lady friends were
dying with envy. I felt flattered by his preference, and in time forgot
my early dislike, or remembered it only to wonder and laugh at my
foolish, school-girl fancies. Yet, at times, when I was alone, and had
time for thought, a strange, undefined feeling would steal over me,
amounting to a dread of impending evil, which I could not easily shake
off. Another thing troubled me. Aunt Emily annoyed me, by ceaseless
inquiries as to the result of my acquaintance with Mr. Westbourne. I saw
that to secure him for me was the one object of her ambition. I
remonstrated at this feeling, pained at her want of delicacy.
"One day, when she had been questioning me as usual, I replied,
indignantly; 'Why, any one would think you were tired of me, and wanted
me out of your way, you seem so anxious about my having an establishment
of my own. I am very well contented as I am, and neither expect nor
desire a change.'
"'Now, do listen to reason, child,' she rejoined. 'You must know that it
is my great anxiety for your welfare that induces me to take upon myself
all this care and trouble. Tell me how old you are, Ulrica?'
"'Twenty-one,' I said sullenly.
"'And you have been out three seasons, and people are beginning to talk.
They say it is because you don't wear well, and the men only flirt with
you and leave you.'
"'As if I cared what they say!' I burst forth in my exasperation. 'Thank
heaven, I am independent of everybody's opinion.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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