Penelope : $b or, Love's labour lost. A novel. Volume 2 (of 3)Scargill, William Pitt
General
Penelope : $b or, Love's labour lost. A novel. Volume 2 (of 3)
Scargill, William Pitt
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
Lord Spoonbill was now at a loss whether to offer his sympathy or to
take his departure. He could not, with any great propriety, leave
the room without taking some notice of Mr Primrose; but such was the
expression of the poor man's countenance, that it seemed that merely
to speak to him in the most common-place manner imaginable would be
to distress his feelings, and to burst open that flood of grief which
he seemed to endeavour to restrain. Directing therefore an enquiring
look to Penelope, and again turning towards Mr Primrose, his lordship,
by these looks and the movements which accompanied them, intimated
an intention of departing, if his presence were a restraint. Seeing
that Mr Primrose kept his position, and that no change was made in his
features, his lordship was just whispering to Penelope that he was
sorry to see her father under such depression, and that it might be
agreeable that he should leave them, Mr Primrose hastily started up and
said;
"I beg your pardon, Lord Spoonbill, for my rudeness, but I have met
with a shock this morning that has completely subdued me."
At this speech, Penelope caught her father's hand with tender
eagerness, and asked, as well as her feelings would allow, what was the
nature of the misfortune that he had met with. Most tenderly, and with
a tone which reached even the heart of Lord Spoonbill, Mr Primrose said;
"My dear, dear child, you are a dependent again, and God knows how soon
you may be an orphan indeed."
Before Penelope could speak, and indeed before she well comprehended
her father's meaning, the distressed man directed his speech to Lord
Spoonbill, saying;
"Could you believe it possible, my lord, that such deliberate villains
should exist in a Christian country, as to take from a man the little
property which he had been toiling for years to accumulate, to take
what they knew they never could restore. Those villains suffered me,
but ten days ago, to deposit my all in their hands, and now they have
stopped payment; and from all that I can hear in the City, I am not
likely to receive above one shilling in the pound, and I may wait
months, or perhaps years, for that."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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