The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 259: what you’re looking at

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

242 THE COURT OF LONDON gcathered in a knot behind, and fastened with a circlet of pearls, being thus drawn up from a neck that was dazzling in its whiteness and admirable in its arching shapeliness. Julia’s hair showered in a myriad ringlets over her white sloping shoulders, and down upon her fine bosom, which the morning dress left much exposed, according to the fashion of the time. She also wore a white rose at the side of her head, and of her it might be observed, as of her elder sister, that it was an emblem of the purity which had passed away from her. Very beautiful appeared the three sisters as they thus inhaled the fresh breeze of morning in that balcony worked over with embroidery of real flowers, and, alas! sorrowful indeed is the reflection that the external aspect of those lovely creatures was very far from serving as an index of their minds within. Fair and stainless were the caskets as they seemed to the eye, but no gems of matchless price were enclosed in those angelic incarnations. No, in pro- portion ag the exterior embellishments were beautiful and captivating, so were the internal thoughts corrupt and impure. Ah! of what avail is the snowy bosom i the heart that beats within is a volcano of furious passions? But to continue the thread of our narrative. Between seven and eight on this delightful morning was it that Agatha, Emma, and Julia Owen were together in the balcony of the eldest sister’s chamber. ‘Who could ever wish to return to cold and cheerless England from such a clime as this? ” said Julia, as she slowly carried her fine hazel eyes over the garden belonging to the villa, the fields beyond, and the mountains which rose in the distance. ‘“ Would you really like to settle down at Geneva with some good-tempered, confiding husband, a native of the coun- try?’ asked Emma, raising her own dark eyes toward her younger sister. ‘No, I do not think I should like to marry a foreigner,”’ rephed Julia. ‘Well, then,’’ resumed Emma, ‘‘ what should you say to settling down here, in a villa of your own, as an independent lady, but of course with a lover on the sly to be a consolation and a companion in hours that would otherwise be monoto- nous indeed? ”’ Gomichbooks (E(0)