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Updated: June 12, 2025
I assure you I am uneasy at it; for, though I have no suspicion of your virtue, yet it may injure your reputation in the opinion of my neighbours. Laetitia. I don't trouble my head about my neighbours; and they shall no more tell me what company I am to keep than my husband shall. Jonathan. A good wife would keep no company which made her husband uneasy. Laetitia.
Repose on Corney's forethought." "You are sure, Dr. Corney?" said Laetitia, frightened on her father's account and on her own. "Which aspect will be the best for Mr. Dale's bedroom?" the hospitable ladies Eleanor and Isabel inquired. "Southeast, decidedly: let him have the morning sun: a warm air, a vigorous air, and a bright air, and the patient wakes and sings in his bed."
The light was tender to her complexion where she sat in partial shadow. De Craye asked whether Crossjay had been caught. Laetitia murmured a kind word for the boy. Willoughby examined her embroidery. The ladies Eleanor and Isabel appeared. They invited her to take carriage exercise with them.
There had come for her as the last voice out of that house a quivering letter from Aunt Belle, seeming to quiver in the hand with the passionate upbraiding that had indited it, and a forlorn sentence from Laetitia. "I have done everything for you, everything, everything, and this is how you have rewarded me," had pulsed the pages of Aunt Belle; Laetitia only had written: "Oh, Rosalie!
"I think you will find him at the station, and if you do, command him to come straight back here," Laetitia said to Clara. The answer was an affectionate squeeze, and Clara's hand was extended to Willoughby, who bowed over it with perfect courtesy, bidding her adieu. So the knot was cut. And the next carriage to Dr. Middleton's was Mrs. Mountstuart's, conveying the great lady and Colonel De Craye.
She indulged her morbid fit, and shut up her senses that she might live in the anticipation of meeting Miss Dale; and, long before the approach of the hour, her hope of encountering any other than another dull adherent of Sir Willoughby had fled. So she was languid for two of the three minutes when she sat alone with Laetitia in the drawing-room before the rest had assembled.
She lay still, thinking, thinking; dreaming such dreams as are the occasions of sanctified privacy to her age and sex. In the morning she was no worse for her vigil. When at luncheon-time Aunt Laetitia had returned she went into all the little matters of which she had to report.
But the pleasure is loftier, and may comfort our unmerited misfortune for a while, in making a false friend drunk. Willoughby, among his many preoccupations, had the satisfaction of seeing the effect of drunkenness on Horace De Craye when the latter was in Clara's presence. He could have laughed. The hour was close upon eleven at night. Laetitia sat in the room adjoining her father's bedchamber.
One fair April morning, after his return to England from a three years' absence, Sir Willoughby met Laetitia Dale, an early sweetheart whom he no longer loved. "He sprang out of the carriage and seized her hand. 'Laetitia Dale! he said. He panted. 'Your name is sweet English music! And you are well? The anxious question permitted him to read deep in her eyes.
He did not wish the period revived, but reserved it as a garden to stray into when he was in the mood for displaying elegance and brightness in the society of a lady; and in speech Laetitia helped him to the nice delusion. She was not devoid of grace of bearing either. Would she preserve her beautiful responsiveness to his ascendency? Hitherto she had, and for years, and quite fresh.
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