The Mysteries of the Court of London by Pauline Clarendon — page 384: what you’re looking at

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

” EARL AND COUNTESS OF DESBOROUGH 381 enough to think and to hope that there might be such a sentiment as a love of divine nature, apart from gross en- joyment, and existing rather as an essenve than a sensuous- ness. And I fancied that if I made you my wile, surrounded you with every element of happiness which wealth could purchase, anticipated all your slightest wishes, ministered unto you the most delicate yet unwearied attentions, con- verted you into the goddess of my incessant worship, ele- vated you as the divinity to which it would be my only Joy and desire to kneel, and studied your felicity even to those minute details that embrace the veriest trifles which the most affectionate husbands are prone to overlook, I flattered myself, [ say, that uf I did all this, you would appreciate my good intentions, you would become contented with your lot, and you would regard me with a generous compassion, if not with friendship. Your love I could not hope to gain; and yet there were moments when the starry wings of my imagination waited me, in delicious visions, away from this gross earth, and taught me to believe that a young, amiable, and intellectual woman, placed in the midst of the glowing feelings and gentle fascinations which my idolatry toward her was calculated to engender, would have perhaps learned even to love the man who thus undertook to make her wel- fare and her happiness his sole and constant care.”’ By degrees, as the Earl of Desborough gave utterance to these sentiments in a tone plaintively touching, the countess grew deeply, deeply interested in the language that thus conveyed such ingenuous revelations; her whole attention became absorbed in words which, though spoken with no sinister intent, but in the spirit of manly frankness and candour, had the effect of a powerful appeal to her feel- ings; and when, toward the close, they assumed the air and expression of a gentle reproach and a tender upbraiding, the conviction gradually stole upon her that she was un- worthy of even the notice of the man in whose mind dwelt such elevated thoughts and such chastening ideas. The tint of the rose reappeared upon her cheeks which the former emotions had left so pale; and that hue, deepening rapidly as the sense of shame grew stronger in her breast, flushed into a glowing crimson which overspread her counte- nance, her neck, her very bosom. ‘“‘ Francis,” she said, in a low and solemn voice, as she CONnnicloool|Ks (GO)