United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Women -- Social conditions -- Fiction
The quiet figure, clad in sober grey, and wearing a muslin cap whose
crimped ruffle enclosed in a snowy frame the benevolent wrinkled
countenance, came forward, knitting in hand, spectacles on her nose,
and for the first time the visitor became aware of her presence.
"Please lower the curtain yonder beside the etagere, the sun shines
hot upon Mr. Laurance's brow. Then touch the bell, and order the
carriage to be ready in twenty minutes."
Humiliated as he had never been before, Mr. Laurance resolved upon
one desperate attempt to regain the position his vanity had rashly
forfeited. Waiting until the Quaker-like _duenna_ had retreated to
her former seat, he rose and leaned across the small table, and under
his rich low voice and passionately pleading eyes the actress held
her breath and clutched the locket till its sharp edge sunk into her
quivering flesh.
"You dismiss me as unworthy of your presence, and, acknowledging the
justice of your decree, I sincerely deplore the fatuity that prompted
the offence. Your rebuke was warranted by my foolish presumption,
and, confessing the error into which I was betrayed by your
condescending notice last night, I humbly and sorrowfully solicit
your generous forgiveness. Fervid flattering phrases sorely belie my
real character if, sinking me almost beneath your contempt, you deem
me devoid of a high sense of honour, or of chivalric devotion to
noble womanly delicacy. Madame Orme, if your unparalleled beauty,
grace, and talent bewitched me into a passing folly and vain
impertinence, for which indeed I blush, your stern reproof recalls me
to my senses, to my better nature; and I beg that upon the unsullied
word of an American gentleman, you will accept with my apology the
earnest assurance that in quitting this room I honour and revere my
matchless countrywoman far more than when I entered her noble
presence. Fashionable freedom may have demoralized my tongue, but by
the God above us, I swear it has not blackened my heart, nor deadened
my perception and appreciation of all that constitutes true feminine
refinement and purity. You have severely punished my presumptuous
vanity, and now will you not mercifully pardon a man who, finding in
you the perfect fulfilment of his prophetic dreams of lofty as well
as lovely womanhood, humbly but most earnestly craves permission to
reinstate himself in your regard; to attempt to win your esteem and
friendship, which he will value far more highly than the adoration of
any--yes, of all other women?"
He was so near her that she saw the regular quick flutter of the blue
vein on his fair temples, and as the musical mastering voice so well
remembered and once so fondly loved stole tenderly through the dark,
lonely, dreary recesses of her desolate, aching heart, it waked for
one instant a wild, maddening temptation, an intense longing to lift
her arms, clasp them around his neck, lean forward upon his bosom,
and be at rest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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