"You have much too nice a conscience," said Lady Emily (...) "What a pity it is you and I cannot change places. Here am I languishing for a little opposition to my love. My marriage will be quite an insipid, every-day affair: I yawn already to think of it. Can any thing be more disheartening to a young couple, anxious to signalize their attachment in the face of the whole world, than to be allowed to take their own way? Conceive my vexation at being told by papa this morning, that he had not the least objection to Edward and me marrying whenever we pleased, although he thought we might both have done better; but that was our own affair, not his. That he thought Edward a fine, good humoured fellow- excessively amusing- hoped he would get a ship some day, although he had no interest whatever in the admiralty- was sorry he could not give us any money, but hoped we should remain at Beech Park as long as we liked. I really feel quite flat with all these dull affirmations."
"What! you had rather been locked up in a tower- wringing your hands at the height of the windows, the thickness of the walls, and so forth," said Mary.
"No: I should never have done any thing so like a washerwoman, as to wring my hands; though I might, like some heroines, have fallen to work in a regular blacksmith-way, by examining the lock of the door, and, perhaps, have succeeded in picking it; but, alas! I live in degenerate days. Oh! that I had been born the persecuted daughter of some ancient Baron bold, instead of the spoiled child of a good natured modern Earl! Heavens! to think that I must tamely, abjectly submit to be married in the presence of all my family, even in the very parish church! Oh, what detractions from the brilliancy of my star!"
Lady Emily, being 100% herself as usual, in “Marriage”, by Susan Ferrier (1819 edition as edited by Dorothy McMillan)
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