Penny Blood Serial Fiction — page 323: what you’re looking at

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

306 REYNOLDS’ WORKS ventionalisms of society in order to ensure her own happi- ness and prove her devoted affection for its object. There- fore it was not a genuine sentiment which Juliana ex- perienced toward Francis Paton, but a passion consisting only of a gross sensuality. The time having now come, as we have above stated, for Mr. Hawkshaw to make a formal offer of his hand to Juliana, he resolved to avail himself of the first opportunity. This was easily found, for Juliana was enabled to be as much alone with him and as often as she thought fit. Lady Saxon- dale interfered not with her, while she on the other hand interfered not with her mother and Lord Harold Staunton. It was a gorgeous morning in the middle of August, — the sun pouring its flood of unclouded effulgence upon the old castle, the river, and the surrounding scenery, — when Mr. Hawkshaw conducted Juliana forth at about eleven o’clock to walk in the garden. She had thrown on a simple straw bonnet, with a light scarf over her shoulders, and she looked most enchantingly handsome. With all the natural keenness of her penetration, she had at once dis- covered by Mr. Hawkshaw’s manner that the wished-for moment was now at hand. The flush of anticipated success — and triumph was upon her cheeks, mantling richly through the delicate olive of her complexion, and the light of joy danced in her magnificent dark eyes, brighter than if it were the sun’s beams that were reflecting there. Her hair for the morning toilet was arranged in massive bands, and though she and her admirer sought the shadiest avenue in the garden, yet was the entire atmosphere so permeated with the gorgeous sunlight that the luxuriant masses of that raven hair shone with the richest gloss. There was a dewy moisture too upon her lips, which made them look redder than any one of the blushing roses which embowered the path sought by herself and her admirer, and riper than any luscious fruit that hung to the garden trees. Though the morning dress that she wore ascended to the throat, thus concealing the grand contours of her bust, yet was the swell of her bosom indicated by the. rising and falling of the corsage of that white drapery, and its heavings could be felt by her companion’s arm as she leaned upon it. Her looks, her air, her demeanour, her brilliant beauty, — every- thing about her, in fine, was but too well calculated to rivet Gomicbooks (Eo)