ABSTRACT
Sir Sidney’s vivacity pleased, at the same moment that it stung me to the heart. I fancied that he had trifled with my feelings, through a conscious superiority which was the offspring of his mother’s overbearing spirit. As soon as dinner was ended, during which Lady Aubrey’s chilling austerity kept the circle silent, Sir Sidney proposed a ramble towards the mountains. ‘Come, the evening breezes are inviting, pretty Isabella,’ said he; ‘we will yet have a race before sun-set: you know that you have promised to accompany me: Walsingham shall stay and make his court to my mother.’ In an instant they were out of the room, and I heard them laugh as they crossed the hall: I had not power to reply: Sir Sidney’s words, as well as his manner, displeased and mortified me. ‘Make my court’ to Lady Aubrey! Heavens! what infamous degradation! Shall I become a cringing fawning sycophant? Is it not sufficiently humiliating, thought I, to relinquish Isabella? Shall I be the slave, as well as the dupe of my own passions? The idea was but little calculated to quell the fever which began to riot in my brain. I was the most unhappy of the human race; the most persecuted of mortals! at least I thought so.
