But what if pleasure that
marred better pleasure — that interrupted duty? And why was I
ruminating on styles and colours, and proposing to put on
another dress that should be more becoming the next time? and
thinking that it would be well it should be a contrast to
Faustina St. Clair? What! entering the lists with her, on her
own field? No, no; I could not think it. But what then? And
what was this little flutter at my heart about gentlemen's
words and looks of homage and liking? What could it be to me,
that such people as Captain Vaux or Captain Lascelles liked
me? Captain Lascelles, who when he was not dancing or flirting
was pleased to curl himself up on one of the window seats like
a monkey, and take a grinning survey of what went on. Was I
flattered by such admiration as his? — or _any_ admiration? I
liked to have Mr. Thorold like me; yes, I was not wrong to be
pleased with that; besides, that was _liking;_ not empty
compliments. But for my lace and my India muslin and my
"Southern elegance" — I knew Colonel Walrus meant me when he
talked about that, — was I thinking of admiration for such
things as these, and thinking so much, that my Bible reading
had lost its charm? What was in fault? Not the hops? They were
too pleasant.
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