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Updated: June 10, 2025
Mountstuart, with a sovereign lift and turn of her head, "speaks of a refusal?" "I have it from Mr. Dale," said Lady Busshe. "I had it, I thought, distinctly from Dr. Middleton," said Mr. Dale. "That Willoughby proposed to Laetitia for his cousin Vernon, Doctor Middleton meant," said Miss Eleanor.
The very man we want married for our neighbourhood! A woman who can openly talk of expecting him to be twice jilted! You shrink. It is repulsive. It would be incomprehensible: except, of course, to Lady Busshe, who rushed to one of her violent conclusions, and became a prophetess. Conceive a woman's imagining it could happen twice to the same man!
Middleton partly stupefied Willoughby by his way of taking it, but his conduct was too serviceable to allow of speculation on his readiness to break the match. It was the turning-point of the engagement. Lady Busshe made a stir. "I cannot keep my horses waiting any longer," she said, and beckoned. Sir Willoughby was beside her immediately. "You are admirable! perfect!
Porcelain and a boy in the house together is a case of prospective disaster fully equal to Flitch and a fly." "You should understand that my friend Horace whose wit is in this instance founded on another tale of a boy brought us a magnificent piece of porcelain, destroyed by the capsizing of his conveyance from the station," said Sir Willoughby to Lady Busshe.
Mountstuart had said. How much greater the chance of a lover! For he had not yet supplicated her: he had shown pride and temper. He could woo, he was a torrential wooer. And it would be glorious to swing round on Lady Busshe and the world, with Clara nestling under an arm, and protest astonishment at the erroneous and utterly unfounded anticipations of any other development.
He turned to Laetitia's face for the antidote to his pain. "Oh, but you are not one yet, and I shall require two voices to convince me," Lady Busshe rejoined, after another stare at the marble. "Lady Busshe, I beg you not to think me ungrateful," said Clara. "Fiddle! gratitude! it is to please your taste, to satisfy you. I care for gratitude as little as for flattery."
Mountstuart would arrive. He could not fence her without a design in his head; he was destitute of an armoury if he had no scheme: he racked the brain only to succeed in rousing phantasmal vapours. Her infernal "Twice!" would cease now to apply to Laetitia; it would be an echo of Lady Busshe. Nay, were all in the secret, Thrice jilted! might become the universal roar.
"I'm the straightforwardest of men at a word of command." "This is a whisper. Be alert, as you were last night. Shuffle the table well. A little liveliness will do it. I don't imagine malice, but there's curiosity, which is often as bad, and not so lightly foiled. We have Lady Busshe and Lady Culmer here." "To sweep the cobwebs out of the sky!" "Well, then, can you fence with broomsticks?"
"I don't sell him under four hundred." "Poor Johnny Busshe! You forget that his wife doles him out his money. You're a hard bargainer, Sir Willoughby." "I mean the price to be prohibitive." "Very well; and 'leafage' is good for hide-and-seek; especially when there is no rogue in ambush. And that's the worst I can say of Laetitia Dale. An exaggerated devotion is the scandal of our sex.
Lady Busshe and Lady Culmer will soon be rushing here, and declaring they never expected anything else, I do not doubt. I am not so pretentious. I beg your excuse for that 'twice' of mine yesterday. Even if it hurt my vanity, I should be happy to confess my error: I was utterly out. But then I did not reckon on a fatal attachment, I thought men were incapable of it.
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