The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 183: what you’re looking at

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

166 REYNOLDS’ WORKS young lady could not blind herself to the circumstance that, in being regarded as the future wife of Lord Saxondale, she was to be sacrificed to the wretched conventionalisms of high life, and that her hand was to be bestowed upon one whom she could not possibly love, and who even inspired her with aversion and disgust. But there was another circumstance to which Florina could not close her convictions, and this was, that 1f she did not love Lord Saxondale she nevertheless loved another. ‘“ Yes,’’ she thought to herself, in the depth of that reverie in which we find her plunged, “‘ he is one of nature’s true aristocracy and needs no factitious ornament of rank or accidental advantage of fortune to render him truly esti- mable, I feel that I love him. I can no longer shut out this truth from my mind. But in thus admitting it unto myself, is 1t not the same as acknowledging my own unhappiness? Alas, yes! for it is in vain that I love him — I never can be his. Oh, that he loves me in return, I know, I am convinced. Yes, William Deveril loves me,” and as she thus spoke his name even to herself, she suddenly started as 11 with the consciousness of some guilty thought or deed. ‘“‘ And now,” she continued, in her silent reverie, “‘ I am decked to go forth into the brilliant saloons of fashion, to smile with my lips while my heart is weeping, to look happy in my face while my soul is dark with sorrow.”’ At this moment a door opened at the extremity of Lady Florina’s apartment, and galvanized, as it were, trom her deep, absorbing reverie, she started and looked around, as if fearful lest the person now entering, whoever it were, might read in her features the thoughts that had been agitating in her mind. ‘a Ah, my dear aunt,” she exclaimed, rising from her chair, ‘is the carriage at the door? ”’ _ Yes, Flo dear,” responded Lady Macdonald, an elderly woman, superbly dressed, but the artifices of whose toilet could not conceal and scarcely even mitigate the ravages of time upon a beauty that in her younger days had been of no common order. ‘ It is half-past six, Lady Saxondale dines at seven, and you know that she is so particular, she is always punctual.”’ “Tam ready, aunt,” replied Florina. ‘“‘ But surely it will not take half an hour,” she added, smiling, “‘ to reach Park CONNIE ICO KS (E(0)