Mohawks: A Novel. Volume 1 of 3Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
General
Mohawks: A Novel. Volume 1 of 3
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
Fiction
Squire Bosworth's conduct in many of the relations of life changed in a
marked degree after this period of peril, in which his child's life,
and as it were his own fate, had trembled in the balance. He became a
more affectionate father, a better landlord, and a kinder master. He
still appeared on 'Change every week, still speculated and laboured for
the increase of his vast fortune, still hoarded and calculated and hung
fondly over his piles of debentures and securities, mortgages and New
River shares. The very bent and habit of his mind was too deeply
engrained in him to be changed at forty years of age; but he became less
miserly in many things, and he placed his establishment upon a more
liberal footing, although retaining Mrs. Layburne at the head of
affairs. For his daughter he spared nothing. He gave her toys, lap-dogs,
and a pony, and never allowed a day to pass while he was at Fairmile
without spending some portion of it in the little girl's society. For
the rest he was as much a recluse as ever, shunning all his neighbours,
and never sharing in any of those field-sports which are, and ever have
been, the chief bond of union between country gentlemen.
CHAPTER IV.
"HOW BRIGHT SHE WAS, HOW LOVELY DID SHE SHOW!"
To be a fashionable beauty, with a reputation for intelligence--nay,
even for that much rarer quality, wit; to have been born in the purple;
to have been just enough talked about to be interesting as a woman with
a history; to have a fine house in Soho Square, and a mediæval abbey in
Hampshire; to ride, dance, sing, play, and speak French and Italian
better than any other woman in society; to have the finest diamonds in
London; to be followed, flattered, serenaded, lampooned, written about
and talked about, and to be on the sunward side of thirty: surely to be
and to have all these good things should fill the cup of contentment for
any of Eve's daughters.
Lady Judith Topsparkle had all these blessings, and flashed gaiety and
brightness upon the world in which her lot was cast; and yet there were
those among her intimates--those who sipped their chocolate with her of
a morning, before her head was powdered or her patches put on--who
declared that she was not altogether happy.
The diamonds, the spacious house in Soho Square, with its Turkey carpets
and Boule furniture, its plenitude of massive plate and Italian
pictures, its air of regal luxury and splendour; the abbey near
Ringwood, with its tapestries, pictures, curios, and secret passages,
were burdened with a certain condition which for Lady Judith reduced
their value to a minimum.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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