The curse of Clifton : $b or, the widowed brideSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
General
The curse of Clifton : $b or, the widowed bride
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
American fiction -- 19th century; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
The extent of his liabilities was, however, so little
known in the neighborhood, that his credit was still good, and almost
high—and the estate of White Cliffs was still considered as one of the
most prosperous in the county, and the owners still held as very
enviable people. While old Mr. Clifton sat pondering most dismally over
his impracticable accounts, the study door was suddenly thrown open, and
Miss Clifton entered, in great excitement, and threw herself into a
chair before her father, exclaiming—
“Father, I have been insulted!”
The old man, never indifferent to his children’s cry—ever ready in the
midst of his own real cares, to hear and sympathize even with their
fantastic griefs—looked up from his papers in perplexity, inquiring—
“What is it? What did you say, my child?”
“I have been insulted!—outraged, sir!”
The old man gazed at her in surprise, repeating—
“‘Insulted, outraged!’”
“Yes, sir! contemned, despised, scorned, insulted, outraged,
_rejected_!”
The old man placed his hands upon the arms of the chair and gazed in
astonishment, exclaiming—
“‘Insulted!—outraged!’ Whom? You, my daughter Miss Clifton!
_Impossible._”
“Yes, sir! me, your daughter—Carolyn Clifton!”
“Who has presumed—who has dared—?”
“Captain Clifton, sir, ‘has dared!’” replied the indignant beauty,
rising in her excitement.
The old gentleman stared at her in blank wonder for a minute, and
then—taking her hand—
“Sit down—sit down—sit down—sit down,” he kept repeating, “and tell me
all about it.”
Carolyn drank a glass of ice water that stood near her on the table, and
then, in a cooler manner, told her father exactly what had passed, and
how it had finally ended.
The old gentleman scratched his snow-white head in vexation and
perplexity, but the winter bloom of his broad, rosy face, was neither
heightened nor lowered at the hearing of the tale. He did not by any
means display the indignation the offended beauty had expected.
“Well, sir!” at last she said, rather haughtily, “what do you say to
this?”
He put his arm fondly around her waist, and drew her to him, saying,
caressingly—
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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