Moths by Ouida — page 100: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

9 | MOTHS. | | Sao ga his words dwelt in her heart like a talisman against all evi She sat all alone, and dreamt innocently of going into the - mystic German land and learning music in all its. hights and depths, and living nobly, and being never wedded (‘‘Oh, never, — never!” she said to herself, with a burning face and a shrinking heart), and some day meeting Correze, the wonder of the world, and looking at him without shame and saying: ‘‘I have done as you told me; I have never been burnt in the flame as you feared. Are you glad?” It did not, as yet, seem hard to her to doso. The world was to her personified in the great vague horror of Sergius Zourofis name, and it cost her no more to repulse it than it costs a child to flee from some painted monster that gaps at it from a wall. This night, after Lady Stoat’s ineffectual efforts at conver- sion, Lady Dolly herself once more sought her daughter, and re- newed the argument with more asperity and more callousness than she had previously shown. Vere was still sitting in her own chamber, trying to read, but, in truth, always thinking of the bidding of Correze, ‘‘ Keep. your- self unspotted from the world.” | Dreaming so, with her hands buried in the golden clustering hair, and her lids dropped over her eyes, she started at the voice of her mother, and, with pain and impatience, listened with un- willing ear to the string of reproaches, entreaties, and censure that had lately become as much the burden of her day as the morning prayer at Bulmer had been, droned by the duchess’ dull voice to the sleepy household. Vere raised herself and listened, with that dutifulness of the old fashion which contrasted so strangely in her, her mother thought, with her rebellion and self-willed character. But she grew very weary. Lady Dolly, less delicate in her diplomacy than her friend had been, did not use euphuisms at all, or attempt to take any high moral point. Broadly and unhesitatingly she painted all that Sergius Zouroff had it in his power to bestow, and the text of her endless sermon was, that to reject such gifts was wickedness. At the close she grew passionate. ‘You think of love,” she said. ‘‘Oh, it isof no use your say- ing you don’t: you do. All girls do. I did. I married your father. Wewere as much in love as any creatures ina poem. When I had lived a month in that wretched parsonage by the sea, I knew what a little fool I had been. I had had such wed- ding-presents!—such presents! The queen had sent me a cache- mire for poor papa’s sake; yet, down in that horrid place, we had to eat pork, and there was only a metal teapot! Oh, you smile! it is nothing to smile at. Vere used to smile just as youdo. He would have taken the cachemire to wrap an old woman up in, very probably; and he wouldn’t have known whether he ate a peach or a pig. I knew; and whenever they put that tea in the metal teapot, I knew the cost of young love. Respect your father’s memory? Stuff! Iam not saying anything against him. noor dear fellow; he was very good,—in his way, excellent; but a \ . ve, ~* - ’ ; ¢ oh ‘ i : ‘comicbooks