Moths by Ouida — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

53 a MOTHS, ~~ ‘How do you like it?’ he said, wih an odd little smile. ‘* Tt is very pretty to look at,” answered Vere. Ah, to be sure. As good as a play when you're new to it, and awfully like a treadmill when you're not. What do you think of Fuschia Leach?’ | Vere remembered Lady Stoat’s warning, and answered merely: ‘*{ think she is handsome.” ‘‘T believe you; she threw over your cousin Mull as if he were dirty boots; so she does heaps of them. I don’t know what it is - myself; I think itis her cheek. I always tell Dolly so—I beg your pardon—I mean your mother.” Vere had heard him say ‘‘ Dolly” very often, and didnot know why he apologized. ‘“My mother admires her?” she said, with a little interrogation in her voice. Jura laughed. ‘‘Or says she does. Women always say they admire a ree ing beauty. It looks well, you know. They all swear Dawtry is divine, and I’m sure in their hearts they think her rather ugly than otherwise.” | ‘* Who is Mrs. Dawtry?” ** Don’t you know? Good heavens! But, of course, you don’t know anything of our world. It’sa pity you ever should. Touch pitch—what is it the old saw says?” It was the regret of Correze, differently worded. ‘But the world, as you call it, means men and women? It must be what they make it. They might make it good if they barat said Vere, with. the seriousness that her mother de. tested. ‘- But they don’t wish, you see. That is it,” said Jura, witha sigh. ‘*I don’t know how itis, when once you are in the swim you can’t alter things; you must just go along with the rest. One does heaps of things one hates only because others do them.” ‘* That is very contemptible,” said Vere, with the disdain that became her very well coming on her pretty, proud mouth. ‘*1 think we are contemptible,” said Jura, moodily; and to so frank a confession there was no reply or retort possible, Vere thought, ‘“It is strange; he said much the same,” she murmured, half aloud. ‘‘Only he said it like a poet, and you—speak in such an odd way.” ‘* How do I speak?” asked Jura, amused. ‘You speak as if words cost too much, and you were obliged to use as few and choose as bald ones as you could find; English is such a beautiful language, if you read Milton or Jeremy Tay- lor, or Beaumont and Fletcher, or any of the old divines and dramatists——” She stopped, because Jura laughed. *‘Divines and dramatists! My dear child, we know nothing about such things; we have St. Albans and French adaptations; they’re our reading of divinity and the drama. Who was ‘he’ that talked like a poet while I talk like a sweep?” *‘I did not say you talked like a sweep; and I meant the Mar- quis de Correze,’’ | ‘comicbooks.co