The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties (Volume 2 of 5)Burney, Fanny
History
The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties (Volume 2 of 5)
Burney, Fanny
France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Refugees -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Refugees -- Fiction; War stories
'Bless me,' she cried, 'did not my cousin tell you what I've been doing
for you? I've quite slaved in your service, I can assure you. I never
made such exertions in my life. Every body had agreed to give you up.
It's really shocking to see how people are governed by their prejudices!
But I brought them all round; for, after Lady Aurora's letter, they none
of them could tell what to resolve upon, till I gave them my advice.
That, indeed, is no unusual thing to happen to me. So few people know
what they had best do!'
This self-eulogium having elated her spirits, her haste to depart
sufficiently slackened, to give her time to make a farther demand,
whether her cousin had executed her commission.
Ellis knew not even that he had had any to execute.
'Well,' she cried, 'that old soul grows more provoking every day! I have
resolved a thousand times never to trust him again; only he is always at
hand, and that's so convenient, one does not know how to resist making
use of him. But he really torments me more than any thing existing. If
he had literally no sense, one should not be so angry; but, when it's
possible to make him listen, he understands what one says well enough:
and sometimes, which you will scarcely believe, he'll suddenly utter
something so keen and so neat, that you'd suppose him, all at once,
metamorphosed into a wit. But the fact is, he is so tiresomely absent,
that he never knows what he does, nor hears what one says. At breakfast,
he asks whether there is nothing more coming for dinner; at dinner, he
bids his servant get ready his night-cap and slippers, because he shall
eat no supper; if any body applies to him for a pinch of snuff, he
brings them an arm chair; if they ask him how he does, he fetches his
hat and cane, buttons his great coat up to his chin, and says he is
ready to attend them; if they enquire what it is o'clock, he thanks them
for their kindness, and runs over a list of all his aches and pains; and
the moment any body enters the room, the first word he commonly says to
them is Good-bye!'
Ellis earnestly begged to know what was meant by the letter of Lady
Aurora.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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