The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties (Volume 3 of 5)Burney, Fanny
History
The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties (Volume 3 of 5)
Burney, Fanny
France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Refugees -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Refugees -- Fiction; War stories
'And where,' he continued, 'have you all this time been eclipsed? From
sundry circumstances, that perversely obtruded themselves upon my
knowledge, in defiance of the ill reception I gave them, I was led, at
first, to conclude, that you had been spirited away by Sir Lyell
Sycamore.'
He fixed his eyes upon her curiously; but the colour that rose in her
cheeks betrayed no secret consciousness; it shewed open resentment.
'O! I soon saw,' he resumed, as if he had been answered, though she had
not deigned to disclaim an idea that she deemed fitted simply for
contempt; 'by the mortified silence of my young gallant, that the fates
had not been propitious to his wishes. In characters of his description,
success never courts the shade. It basks in the sun-shine, and seeks the
broadest day. How is it that you have thus piqued the vain spark? He
came to me in such a flame, to upbraid me for what he called the cursed
ridiculous dance that I had led him, that I fairly thought he meant to
call me out! I began, directly, to look about me for the stoutest of my
crutches, to parry, for a last minute or two, his broad sword; and to
deliberate which might be the thickest of my leather cushions, to hold
up in my defence, for reverberating the ball, in case he should prefer
pistols. But he deigned, most fortunately, to content himself with only
abusing me: hinting, that such superannuated old geese, as those who
had passed their grand climacteric, ought not to meddle with affairs of
which they must have lost even the memory. I let him bounce off without
any answer; very thankful to the "Sisters three" to feel myself in a
whole skin.'
Looking at her, then, with an expression of humorous reproach, 'You will
permit me, I hope, at least,' he added, 'to flatter myself, that, when
your indulgence to the garrulity of age has induced you to bear with my
loquacity till I am a little hoarser, your consideration for sore
throats and heated lungs, will prevail upon you to utter a little word
or two in your turn?'
Juliet, laughing, answered that she had been too well amused, to be
aware how little she had seemed to merit his exertions.
'Tell me, then,' cried he, with looks that spoke him enchanted by this
reply; 'through what extraordinary mechanism, in the wheel of fortune,
you have been rolled to this spot? The benevolent sprites, who have
urged me hither, have not given me a jot of information how you became
known to Mrs Ireton? By what strange spell have you been drawn in, to
seem an inmate of her mansion? and what philters and potions have you
swallowed, to make you endure her never-ending vagaries?'
Half smiling, half sighing, Juliet looked down; not willing to accept,
though hardly able to resist, the offered licence for complaint.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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