Penny Blood Serial Fiction — page 229: what you’re looking at

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

212 THE COURT OF LONDON A stranger would have fancied that he was contemplating one of the most pleasing scenes which could possibly be presented to his gaze, — a kind-hearted, motherly, well-bred woman presiding at a table surrounded by young ladies of elegant manners, strict propriety of conduct, and of prin- ciples as excellent as their personal loveliness was ravishing. For although they were well aware that Mrs. Brace’s estab- lishment was nothing more nor less than a brothel of the first fashion, and although Mrs. Brace herself knew that not an eye which met her own reflected the thoughts of a chaste soul,— although, in a word, the charms which graced the banqueting-board were a marketable commodity, constantly obtaining a high price, nevertheless not an im- proper word was uttered, not an impure idea nor even an indelicate allusion was ever syllabled by those mouths on which the hot lips of lust had been so often pressed. After supper, Mrs. Brace and her attendant satellites proceeded into an adjoining apartment, which was de- nominated the “ ladies’ drawing-room;” and there they diverted themselves in a variety of ways until eleven o’clock. Some read romances, others played at cards, a few whiled away the time in embroidery for themselves, one or two had recourse to music, and the rest gathered around the cheerful fire to converse. When the usual hour for retiring was proclaimed by a handsome timepiece upon the mantel, the young ladies all bade Mrs. Brace an affectionate ‘‘ good night,” and departed in an orderly manner — without noise, giggling, or confusion — to their respective chambers. On the particular night of which we are speaking, and which was characterized by so many and such varied inei- dents, Mrs. Brace retired to her own bedroom immediately alter the work-girls had quitted her; and in half an hour she sought her couch. Sleep soon visited her eyes; for, in spite of the equivocal nature of her avocation, she was not at any time much troubled with qualms of conscience. But on the present occasion she was haunted by un- pleasant dreams. The image of the unhappy Caroline Walters rose up before her mental view, reproaching her for a base violation of solemn pledges made to the deceased © parents of the girl, and for foul treachery practised toward the friendless orphan. At length —as it is often the case CONNIE COOKS (E(@) m