"My Novel" — Volume 12. Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон
dear Leslie, you must excuse my daughter to-day; she is still suffering from the agitation she has gone through, and cannot see you."
The lover tried not to look too delighted.
"Cruel!" said he; "yet I would not for worlds force myself on her presence. I hope, Duke, that she will not find it too difficult to obey the commands which dispose of her hand, and intrust her happiness to my grateful charge."
"To be plain with you, Randal, she does at present seem to find it more difficult than I foresaw. She even talks of—"
"Another attachment—Oh, heavens!"
"Attachment, /pazzie!/ Whom has she seen? No, a convent! But leave it to me. In a calmer hour she will comprehend that a child must know no lot more enviable and holy than that of redeeming a father's honour. And now, if you are returning to London, may I ask you to convey to young Mr. Hazeldean my assurances of undying gratitude for his share in my daughter's delivery from that poor baffled swindler."
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