The Mysteries of the Court of London by Pauline Clarendon — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

MR. HARLEY 77 indeed would deceive you in anything? ” he added, sinking his voice to the lowest whisper and availing himself of the opportunity afforded by Pauline’s turning aside for the moment to cut up a cake. The tea was now served around, and not only did Mr. Harley force himself to swallow two cups of a beverage which he in reality detested, but also managed to eat a slice of cake, though he knew it would disagree with him. But he was well aware of the immense strides he should thus make in the good graces of these artless, frank, and good-natured girls by adapting himself familiarly to their comparatively homely habits; and thus by the time that the old charwoman was summoned to clear the table, he had as it were insinuated himself into a position of as friendly an intimacy as if they had known him for a dozen years. But then his manners were so fascinating, his conversation so delightful, and his attentions so constant, and yet so delicate. Without an effort and also without affectation, he displayed a perfect acquaintance with the literature of the country, made striking comments upon the passing events of the day, and related several amusing anecdotes relative to those great men of the age whose names were in everybody’s mouth. Then, with an easy and apparently quite natural transition, he slided glibly into a critique upon the last new dramas produced at the national theatres, and by a few rapid remarks on the musical talent in vogue at the time, proved his exquisite taste and delicate perception in respect to the divine art. In this manner the time passed rapidly away, minutes flew by with silent wings, until they accumulated into hours, and when the clock struck ten, Pauline quitted the room in order to give directions for supper. _ The moment Octavia found herself alone with Mr. Harley, a species of tremor came over her, not of pain, nor yet altogether of pleasure, but a strange commingling of the two, such as when hope and fear retain the soul in the excitement of suspense. ‘Oh, what happiness have I experienced this evening! ”’ exclaimed Harley, turning toward the blushing, trembling maiden, and bending upon her a look full of the most melting fondness. ‘“‘ The few hours that I have passed with you, lovely Octavia, have appeared to me an Elysian felicity, an COMIC OOO SS (GO)