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Agnes Grey, a fiction by Anne Bronte |
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CHAPTER VIII--THE 'COMING OUT' |
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_ At eighteen, Miss Murray was to emerge from the quiet obscurity of the schoolroom into the full blaze of the fashionable world--as much of it, at least, as could be had out of London; for her papa could not be persuaded to leave his rural pleasures and pursuits, even for a few weeks' residence in town. She was to make her debut on the third of January, at a magnificent ball, which her mamma proposed to give to all the nobility and choice gentry of O--- and its neighbourhood for twenty miles round. Of course, she looked forward to it with the wildest impatience, and the most extravagant anticipations of delight. 'Miss Grey,' said she, one evening, a month before the all- She seated herself on the low stool at my feet; and I, suppressing 'You should tell the good people at home not to bore you with such 'The good people at home,' replied I, 'know very well that the 'Well, I only said it to tease you. But now I want to talk about 'Why so?--I shall not be present at the ball.' 'No, but you will see the rooms decked out before it begins, and 'I should like to see you very much; but I shall have many 'Oh, never mind your friends! Tell them we won't let you go.' 'But, to say the truth, it would be a disappointment to myself: I 'Well, but it is such a short time.' 'Nearly a fortnight by my computation; and, besides, I cannot bear 'Is she--when?' 'Not till next month; but I want to be there to assist her in 'Why didn't you tell me before?' 'I've only got the news in this letter, which you stigmatize as 'To whom is she to be married?' 'To Mr. Richardson, the vicar of a neighbouring parish.' 'Is he rich?' 'No; only comfortable.' 'Is he handsome?' 'No; only decent.' 'Young?' 'No; only middling.' 'Oh, mercy! what a wretch! What sort of a house is it?' 'A quiet little vicarage, with an ivy-clad porch, an old-fashioned 'Oh, stop!--you'll make me sick. How CAN she bear it?' 'I expect she'll not only be able to bear it, but to be very happy. 'But--miserable creature! how can she think of spending her life 'He is not old: he's only six or seven and thirty; and she herself 'Oh! that's better then--they're well matched; but do they call him 'I don't know; but if they do, I believe he merits the epithet.' 'Mercy, how shocking! and will she wear a white apron and make pies 'I don't know about the white apron, but I dare say she will make 'And will she go about in a plain shawl, and a large straw bonnet, 'I'm not clear about that; but I dare say she will do her best to |