I am, Sir.

I looked cursed silly, I am sure. You will breakfast first, I hope,

Madam; and a very humble strain; yet with an hundred tender looks in my

heart.

Had she given me more notice of her intention, I had perhaps wrought

myself up to the frame I was in the day before, and begun my vengeance.

And immediately came into my head all the virulence that had been

transcribed for me from Miss Howe's letters, and in that letter which I

had transcribed myself.

Yes, she would drink one dish; and then laid her gloves and fan in the

window just by.

I was perfectly disconcerted. I hemm'd, and was going to speak several

times; but I knew not in what key. Who's modest now! thought I. Who's

insolent now!--How a tyrant of a woman confounds a bashful man! She was

acting Miss Howe, I thought; and I the spiritless Hickman.

At last, I will begin, thought I.

She a dish--I a dish.

Sip, her eyes her own, she; like a haughty and imperious sovereign,

conscious of dignity, every look a favour.

Sip, like her vassal, I; lips and hands trembling, and not knowing that I

sipp'd or tasted.

I was--I was--I sipp'd--(drawing in my breath and the liquor together,

though I scalded my mouth with it) I was in hopes, Madam--

Dorcas came in just then.--Dorcas, said she, is a chair gone for?

Damn'd impertinence, thought I, thus to put me out in my speech! And I

was forced to wait for the servant's answer to the insolent mistress's

question.

William is gone for one, Madam.

This cost me a minute's silence before I could begin again. And then it

was with my hopes, and my hopes, and my hopes, that I should have been

early admitted to--

What weather is it, Dorcas? said she, as regardless of me as if I had not

been present.

A little lowering, Madam--The sun is gone in--it was very fine half an

hour ago.

I had no patience. Up I rose. Down went the tea-cup, saucer and all--

Confound the weather, the sunshine, and the wench!--Begone for a devil,

when I am speaking to your lady, and have so little opportunity given me.

Up rose the saucy-face, half-frighted; and snatched from the window her

gloves and fan.

Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 4 · 第 156 / 183 题