Dilemmas of Pride, (Vol 1 of 3)Loudon, Mrs. (Margracia)
General
Dilemmas of Pride, (Vol 1 of 3)
Loudon, Mrs. (Margracia)
Fiction
The lights were burning, the waiters in attendance, and the orchestra
playing; while, peeping over the shoulder of the double bass, appeared a
particularly smart bonnet, decorated with numerous bows of quite new
ribbon, and further graced by a very handsome black lace veil.
"What can all the people be thinking of?" said Mr. Salter at last; "I
have a mind to order the lights to be put out, and go away home to my
bed. It would be just a proper punishment for them all. And pray," he
added, looking at his daughters' dresses, "what are these gig-meries to
cost?" At this crisis resounded the welcome sounds, "Sir Matthias and
Lady Whaleworthy:" with quickened steps and delighted countenances, our
trio hastened towards the bottom of the room, to receive their guests,
now, as by magic, flowing in altogether.
Introductions were endless; every leading bird was followed by a flock,
which neither host nor hostess had ever seen before; while, from time to
time, the promised titles, those stars which were to give brilliancy to
the night, made their appearance, sprinkling the common herd with
consequence. Lady Flamborough! Sir William Orm! Sir Henry and Lady
Shawbridge! Next appeared poor old General Powel and half blind Sir
Francis Brierton, poking his little sharp nose into everybody's face,
and smirking his recognition, when by so doing he had discovered who
they were; and though last not least, Sir James Lindsey; least in
consequence we mean, for he was a very little, very ugly man, the
express image of the knave of spades. He was, however, a vastly
important personage, a bachelor baronet, with fifteen thousand a-year,
and a man of good family too, so that there was no objection whatever to
him, except that he was a fool, and that when he danced he so capered
and kicked up behind, and rounded his elbows, and, in short, made
himself so completely the butt and laughing-stock of the whole room, it
was with difficulty that even his fifteen thousand per annum could
procure him a partner.
We rather suspect, however, that there were ladies who, though they
shrank from sharing with Sir James the unprofitable ridicule of the
hour, would have had no objection to share with him for life his fifteen
thousand a-year, for, in that case, they could afford to be laughed at.
Sir James had a brother, a very fine young man, remarkably handsome and
equally clever; perhaps a little too hot-headed, but warm-hearted
withal; an enthusiast in beauty, painting, music, scenery, every thing
in short at which a glowing imagination takes fire; the very material
for a frantic lover, yet condemned by his circumstances, either to lead
a single life, or possibly at least contract a marriage with the purse
of some old rich widow, fitter to be his mother than his wife. For Henry
Lindsey was one of the many living sacrifices hourly immolated on the
altars of _pride_, and how many a holocaust has been offered up upon
those altars!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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