She descended into noisy weeping, but not being much of a hand at acting, Prunella was forced to have recourse to a large white handkerchief, appropriated from Mrs. Daubeney’s boudoir, to conceal the absence of tears. Fortunately Mr. Wythe was so befuddled that he did not seem to observe the pretence. “My dear young lady!” This manner of address would have seemed impertinent in any other gentleman of Mr. Wythe’s youth and handsomeness. But his manner possessed such a splendid unconsciousness of these attributes—he spoke so much like a man who believed himself over the hill, and beyond all
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