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But considering her real beauty, and the care which her father always
took about her appearance, she met with far less than her due of
admiration. Admiration she did not care for; partners she did; and
sometimes felt mortified when she had to sit or stand quiet during
all the first part of the evening. If it had not been for her
father's wishes she would much rather have stayed at home; but,
nevertheless, she talked even to the irresponsive old dowager, and
fairly chatted to her father when she got beside him, because she did
not like him to fancy that she was not enjoying herself.
And, indeed, she had so much happiness in the daily course of this
part of her life, that, on looking back upon it afterwards, she could
not imagine anything brighter than it had been. The delight of
receiving her lover's letters--the anxious happiness of replying to
them (always a little bit fearful lest she should not express herself
and her love in the precisely happy medium becoming a maiden)--the
father's love and satisfaction in her--the calm prosperity of the
whole household--was delightful at the time, and, looking back upon
it, it was dreamlike.
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