The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 329: what you’re looking at

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

312 REYNOLDS’ WORKS a she had succeeded, she would have toiled on unweariedly toward the same end, perhaps, indeed, until she had suc- ceeded in accomplishing it.’’ ‘“No, no, that were impossible,” exclaimed Constance, with fervour, ‘“‘ for you know how tenderly and sincerely I love my Etienne, and how worthy he is of my affection, despite our mother’s disparaging reports. But your own secret, Juliana —’’ “Tam coming to that point,” answered the young lady. ‘“ Ere now you conjectured that the object of this love of mine is one whom I need not be ashamed to acknowledge, and who would be acceptable to our mother, our relations, and our friends. Ah! my dear Constance, great as the prejudice of them all at first was against the Marquis of Villebelle, great as it still would be if they knew that your love continues for him, yet would they welcome him into the family as your husband with exultation and enthusiasm, in comparison with the feeling with which they would regard the individual in whom my affections are centred.” “ Juliana, you alarm me,”’ said Constance. “ Is it possible that vou love some one who is unworthy of you? ” ‘“ Ah! that is a phrase hable to many different construc- tions,’ responded Juliana. “ So long as the object of a lady’s love be an honourable, correct, and upright person, who shall dare pronounce him unworthy of that love? But if in addition to being honourable and virtuous and good, he is likewise gloriously handsome, —a very Adonis, one of nature’s sublimest aristocracy so far as personal beauty is concerned, — again, I ask, who shall dare to scorn him as unworthy the love of a patrician damsel? Yet nearly all the world would do this. And why? Not so much because he is without fortune, not so much, perhaps, because he is of humble, or what is worse, unknown parentage, but because he is in a menial capacity — because,” added Juliana, tremulously and hesitatingly, “he wears that garb which is the badge of servitude.” ‘Good heavens!’’ exclaimed Constance, a gleam of the ~ real truth suddenly flashing in upon her mind, “ is it pos- sible —”’ “Oh, I have said too much—I have said too much already,” exclaimed Juliana, with bitterness of voice and an almost anguished curling of the hp. ‘“ Constance, had Gomicbooks- co