Dalgliesh

“ONE FYTTE OF Lucilla’s history is here ended, and another is to be told. We have recorded her beginning in all the fulness of youthful confidence and undaunted trust in her own resources; and have done our best to show that in the course of organising society Miss Marjoribanks, like all other benefactors of their kind, had many sacrifices to make, and had to undergo the mortification of finding out that many of her most able efforts turned to other people’s profit and went directly against herself. She began the second period of her career with, to some certain extent, that sense of failure which is inevitable to every high intelligence after a little intercourse with the world. She had succeeded in a great many things, but yet she had not succeeded in all; and she had found out that the”
― Mrs. Oliphant, The Works of Margaret Oliphant

“doubt Lucilla had a confidence that, whatever difficulties there might have been, she would have extricated herself from them with satisfaction and even éclat, but still it was better to avoid the necessity. Thus it was with a serene conviction that “whatever is, is best,” that Miss Marjoribanks betook herself to her peaceful slumbers. There are so many people in the world who hold, or are tempted to hold, an entirely different opinion, that it is pleasant to linger over the spectacle of a mind so perfectly well regulated. Very different were the sentiments of Mr Cavendish, who could not sleep for the ghosts that kept tugging at him on every side; and those of Barbara Lake, who felt that for her too the flower of her hero’s love had been nipped in the bud. But, to be sure, it is only natural that goodness and self-control should have the best of it sometimes even in this uncertain world. Chapter XXII THE ARCHDEACON RETURNED to Carlingford before Thursday, as he had anticipated; but in the interval Mr Cavendish had not recovered his courage so far as to renew his visit to Miss Marjoribanks, or to face the man who had alarmed him so much.”
― Mrs. Oliphant, The Works of Margaret Oliphant

“Leda was all wrapped up,” continued Mamie, appearing in the doorway with a large sack of meal and standing it up against the wall. “She was like a person with too many clothes on, you know. She couldn’t feel the warmth of the sun.” The sun poured down into the yard. The clean grey cobbles and the old, red-stone buildings reflected the warmth and seemed to bask happily in the golden rays. Lady Shaw felt them upon her back, warming, comforting, health-giving, so she understood. “Mamie,” she said. “I don’t know why you pretend to be stupid.” “I don’t pretend,” replied Mamie. “I was always the stupid one of the family—no good at lessons or anything. Caroline and Jean were clever, and Harriet was the cleverest of all. If you have three clever sisters you know exactly where you are. I used to be rather unhappy about it, but not now. Jock likes me as I am.” Lady Shaw had seated herself upon the edge of an old red-stone drinking-trough; she seemed in no hurry to go, and Mamie was never in a hurry. Mamie always had leisure for her friends. In most houses nowadays (thought Lady Shaw) there was a feeling of unease. Time marched on and everybody ran madly to keep up with it; even pleasure was taken at a gallop. Yet what pleasure was there that could”
― D.E. Stevenson, Music in the Hills

“— —” “Oh, yes; I shall come without being asked,” said Lucilla. And when the tea came it was all she could do to keep herself quiet, and remember that she was a visitor, and not take it out of the incapable hands of Barbara, who never gave her father the right amount of sugar in his tea. To tell the truth, Barbara’s thoughts were occupied by a very different subject; and even Rose had but little attention to spare for her papa’s comforts at that special moment. But Lucilla’s larger mind embraced everything. She sat with her very fingers itching to cut the bread-and-butter for him, and give him a cup of tea as he liked it; and asked herself, with indignation, what was the use of that great creature, with her level eyebrows and her crimson bloom, who could not take the trouble to remember that three lumps was what Mr Lake liked. Miss Marjoribanks had never taken tea with him before; but his second cup, had she”
― Mrs. Oliphant, The Works of Margaret Oliphant