Some schoolwork >_> I thought I might share. If you're unfamiliar with Jane Austen, research her, and I suggest reading Pride and Prejudice.
For Miss Caitlin Phillips, mistress of fifteen thousand pounds, nothing less would have been expected but an invitation to be “distinguished guest” at the evening-party of her neighbour Mr Watson. Indeed, it was common knowledge that her beauty was unrivalled, and her recognition and importance in town unrivalled; and with the recent passing of a doting but rather ineffective father, Miss Phillips now had the liberty to perfect everything in her power. The nails were painted, and the carriage ordered, and Miss Phillips pondered over the events of the past few days. She remembered the public fawning during her father’s funeral, and the presentations of pansies; she had politely declined them, noting that they were “too good, but unnecessary at such an occasion”. In her heart, though, she thought only of how insufferable it was to be presented with such cheap flowers. She would have much preferred something more exquisite.
A change of countenance was needed upon arrival at Astley Hall—the lingering thoughts of frugal flowers must now be dispersed, and Miss Phillips’s attention focused on the host of the party, Mr Jonathan Watson. The carriage door was opened, and Mr Watson bowed. “I thank you, Miss Phillips, for being so prompt this evening. I hope you will enjoy the party. Excuse me—I must attend to the other guests; I will leave you with my friend, William Roberts.”
Mr Roberts, young, handsome and easy-going, was a close acquaintance of Miss Phillips, who seemed rather excited by her presence on this occasion. As soon as she disembarked her carriage, did Miss Phillips find her attention surrendered to Mr Roberts, who presented her with a single pansy. Miss Phillips could not help but reply, with rather modern ease, “Roberts, you are really too kind. Only you could be so thoughtful to bring me my favourite flower!”
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Phillips. It was of no trouble at all; I took the liberty to obtain this from Mr Watson’s garden. Was your carriage ride here tolerable?”
“I suppose it was comfortable; but with my childhood, I cannot really say if I am a good judge of comfort at all!” She paused to brush a speck of dust off her dress, and collected herself before continuing. “Roberts, I find that this party of Watson’s rather staged. At this age, young men certainly have their various schemes, (but perhaps not you, Roberts,) and holding such evening activity must be his way. But I do wonder—he knows many a fine young lady with a sizeable income and idle temper. Do you not think so?”
“True, very true. Even though I am well acquainted with Mr Watson, I am certain you know his ways better than I do, so I believe you,” replied Mr Roberts. He could not doubt Miss Phillips’s statement, but he recalled that while Mr Watson was certainly well acquainted with the ladies of Sherborne, he had never shown any particular attention to them.
At this moment, the two of them had entered Astley Hall proper; he spoke no more for now, and instead turned to look at the gathering party. Mr Watson had been expecting a large attendance, and he was not disappointed—the Johnston family, with their three sons and two daughters, had the benefit of being close acquaintances of Mr Watson’s, and they had extended his invitation to their neighbours, a humble carpenter and his wife. There was the well-to-do Matthew Knight, who at present was conversing with Mr Watson himself; and the vivacious environment was not dispelled by the local parlour-boarders, who were eager to comment on almost anything intriguing—much gossip was spread about a young lady who would make her debut.
Miss Phillips felt the need to comment: “I dare say that there is no taste in dress tonight; no embroidery on a dress is a pitiful business indeed!”
“Certainly, definitely so—nothing like your splendid dress.”
Mr Watson joined them at that moment, evidently desiring to enquire about how the party was going. With both of his friends now in his company, Mr Roberts proceeded to talk enthusiastically on the delights of talking to Miss Phillips, and the bustling atmosphere; however, he was abruptly cut off by Miss Phillips, who had noticed someone unfamiliar to her. “Watson,” she enquired, “who is the lady in the white dress?”
“Oh!—Indeed, it was rather rude of me not to introduce her to you earlier.” He gestured warmly towards the new lady, and continued. “I would like you to meet a close friend of mine, Miss Rebecca Mason. She is a sweet and temperate woman, and I believe the two of you will make good acquaintances, Miss Phillips.”
Miss Mason politely said, “How do you do, Miss Phillips.”
The pleasantries were returned, and both ladies seated. However, Miss Phillips was slightly perturbed by how much Miss Mason had been told about her—knowing Mr Watson, and his tendency to reveal all the faults of another person’s character, the prospect of her less than desirable traits being disclosed was rather harrowing. However, Miss Mason’s rather plain and unsuspicious expression suggested otherwise, and Miss Phillips felt inclined enough to enquire about her companion’s background.
She discovered that Miss Mason was the eldest daughter of one Mr Mason, a tailor from Devon. Brought up by affectionate parents and raised in a quaint little house, she had bloomed into a pleasant, kind-hearted young lady, with very little to vex her over her three-and-twenty years.
They continued in conversation, chiefly on matters of clothing and embroidery designs. Miss Phillips observed that her companion was rather reluctant to speak, but when she did, spoke with a delicate grace that would have pleased anyone. After agreeing to Miss Mason’s observations on the appeal of complex embroidery, Miss Phillips found a chance to ask about the purport of Miss Mason’s presence.
“Oh! —yes; Mr Watson was very kind to invite me tonight as a distinguished guest; he believed it an opportunity for me to appreciate high society.”
High society indeed, but you are only the daughter of a tailor; how could you ever appreciate high society!, thought Miss Phillips. She had hoped that Mr Roberts would share her sentiment, however, she was amazed to see him staring rather intently at Miss Mason. She resolved to seek his attention, and mocked: “Roberts!—Do you have your eye on our little friend now?”
Mr Roberts started. “Thank you for rousing me, Miss Phillips. Miss Mason seems to have done her corset laces quite awkwardly!—I hope you take no offence, Miss Mason.—must be a new fashion—do you mind if I?—indeed it will not do, for I will be keeping my eyes on her for the rest of the evening.—Here, let me fix this for you.”
Miss Phillips soon found herself improvidently blocked by Mr Roberts, who took the liberty of fixing Miss Mason’s laces. In vain, Miss Phillips tried to observe the effect this had on the lady—but it would not do; Miss Phillips could only imagine a growing interest between the two. As Mr Roberts sat down, however, Miss Mason betrayed no expression of covert feeling. “How intriguing indeed, my dear creature, that Mr Watson invited you tonight as a distinguished guest! Certainly he was quite aware of your circumstances?”
“Perhaps he forgot about you, and the distinction of your inheritance, Miss Phillips.” Mr Roberts suggested. “But certainly, it is rather odd.”
Miss Mason, upon hearing this unexpected affront, coloured with indignation, and quietly replied: “To be sure, Mr Watson must have meant distinguished as in ‘special’, nothing more.”
“Oh, I see.” Miss Phillips was now quite irritated by the discovery of this development—though she would not publicly admit it, she believed herself as the only distinguished guest in Astley Hall that evening. Additionally, she was concerned over Mr Roberts’s supposed liking of Miss Mason—it was quite improbable, and contrary to marrying into fame and fortune!
The sudden appearance of Mr Watson and the rest of the party could do little to quell her spirits. As she prepared to speak again, she was restrained by Mr Roberts, who had noticed Mr Watson calling for a general silence.
Mr Watson began his address. “It is my pleasure to be host to the citizens of Sherborne. Some of you have been privy to some welcome news about a new arrival to our community; tonight, I would like to introduce everyone to my close friend—Miss Rebecca Mason.”
There was a general chatter in the hall as guests proceeded to introduce themselves to Miss Mason, with Mr Watson watching closely. Miss Phillips now took the opportunity to comment to Mr Roberts: “Well, this is something new!—People are actually finding Miss Mason interesting to talk to.”
“My thoughts exactly, Miss Phillips. She is certainly a very enjoyable companion to converse with.”
Rather perplexed at her companion’s reply, Miss Phillips chose to ignore Mr Roberts, instead raising her voice, and continuing, “It is especially surprising, given that she is only the daughter of a tailor, definitely uneducated in the ways of upper-class society, and overall a very unsuitable companion! She is so reserved, with her disinterest to talk; it is really a great wonder that she even draws that much attention!”
There was a rather abrupt silence—even the loquacious parlour-boarders fell silent after Miss Phillips’s comment. Miss Mason, at first, did not catch its meaning; but when it burst on her, a deep blush and rather prompt “Excuse me” convinced the party that Miss Mason had been affected. Murmurs began to increase in the hall; there was a general division between the upper-class guests, who nodded in agreement, and those less fortunate in situation, whose mentions of “how unjust to Miss Mason!” could be heard.—Amidst this confusion, Miss Phillips felt rather proud of herself, and sought after Mr Roberts, who thankfully was nearby. She exclaimed: “I have done what was necessary.—Now people will be assured that Miss Mason is completely unworthy of being distinguished.”
“Most certainly, Miss Phillips. I could have put it no better myself.—I must excuse you, for Jonathan has called me for a word.” And with that, Mr Roberts left immediately.
Miss Phillips then approached Mr Knight, who was willing to comment on her assertion. It was an effort, however—for at that moment, an argument broke out between Mr Watson and Mr Roberts, causing all the guests to turn in unison.
“Miss Phillips will be no friend of yours, William. She speaks more than does her good; and for you to accept everything she says, without considering your own opinion of this matter, will be very dangerous to you.—Miss Mason would be a better acquaintance for you.”
Miss Phillips was taken rather aback at his condescension of towards her. She prepared to speak out, lost her moment, as Mr Watson continued:
“Tell me, William: what is your honest opinion of Miss Mason?”
“Well,” said Mr Roberts, rather hesitatingly, “it is unfortunate that she is the daughter of a tailor. But I certainly believe she is pretty and has fine manners. She would make a good wife for many a simple man; but as for me, I have no interest in anyone but Miss Phillips.”
Miss Phillips fell silent. She had never seriously considered their relationship to be any more than friendship; but upon hearing Mr Roberts proclaiming his affection for her, Miss Phillips was disgusted.—His agreeing to whatever she said, the pansy, the compliments on her dress—all to win her heart! It really was more than she could ever imagine.—While she could not assume anything about his spirits, hers were in such a mess, that she had to sit down and collect herself, only catching the occasional short phrase of “you cannot act like a puppy”. It seemed like an hour before Mr Watson finally stormed off, amazing everyone present.
Watching his friend depart, William Roberts found himself in a state of vexation. He found himself summoned by Miss Phillips, who said presently: “Roberts. You are gravely mistaken in supposing your actions sufficient to win my affection. I wish to have nothing to do with you anymore.”
“I am sorry to hear that, madam.”
“Sorry! I should be sorry for ever having been your acquaintance. And Mr Watson—his arrogance knows no equal!—To compare me with Miss Mason, who has nothing in her favour, not even goodness of character!”
It was a hopeless case for Mr Roberts to interrupt. He merely replied, (though was probably not heard,): “I shall take my leave then; good evening, Miss Phillips.”—He rose, and walked off towards the coldness of the night. He was still convinced of Miss Mason’s inferiorities; yet he felt some shame over how he had blindly accepted Miss Phillips and her slight of Miss Mason. Lingering thoughts of marriage into the Phillips estate persisted in his mind, but he was no longer interested.—No, his association with Miss Phillips had brought nothing but disappointment.
Miss Phillips was too angry to invite interest from anyone at the party, and proceeded to leave the hall. A deep resentment towards the weakness of Mr Roberts, and persistent disapprobation towards Mr Watson and Miss Mason plagued her thoughts as she called her carriage. A cold stormy rain was beginning to set in, and the gloom of the night only further plagued Miss Phillips’s ill humour. For when she entered her carriage, seen off by a cold Mr Watson, she was convinced of only one thing: she could not forgive them.
For Miss Caitlin Phillips, mistress of fifteen thousand pounds, nothing less would have been expected but an invitation to be “distinguished guest” at the evening-party of her neighbour Mr Watson. Indeed, it was common knowledge that her beauty was unrivalled, and her recognition and importance in town unrivalled; and with the recent passing of a doting but rather ineffective father, Miss Phillips now had the liberty to perfect everything in her power. The nails were painted, and the carriage ordered, and Miss Phillips pondered over the events of the past few days. She remembered the public fawning during her father’s funeral, and the presentations of pansies; she had politely declined them, noting that they were “too good, but unnecessary at such an occasion”. In her heart, though, she thought only of how insufferable it was to be presented with such cheap flowers. She would have much preferred something more exquisite.
A change of countenance was needed upon arrival at Astley Hall—the lingering thoughts of frugal flowers must now be dispersed, and Miss Phillips’s attention focused on the host of the party, Mr Jonathan Watson. The carriage door was opened, and Mr Watson bowed. “I thank you, Miss Phillips, for being so prompt this evening. I hope you will enjoy the party. Excuse me—I must attend to the other guests; I will leave you with my friend, William Roberts.”
Mr Roberts, young, handsome and easy-going, was a close acquaintance of Miss Phillips, who seemed rather excited by her presence on this occasion. As soon as she disembarked her carriage, did Miss Phillips find her attention surrendered to Mr Roberts, who presented her with a single pansy. Miss Phillips could not help but reply, with rather modern ease, “Roberts, you are really too kind. Only you could be so thoughtful to bring me my favourite flower!”
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Phillips. It was of no trouble at all; I took the liberty to obtain this from Mr Watson’s garden. Was your carriage ride here tolerable?”
“I suppose it was comfortable; but with my childhood, I cannot really say if I am a good judge of comfort at all!” She paused to brush a speck of dust off her dress, and collected herself before continuing. “Roberts, I find that this party of Watson’s rather staged. At this age, young men certainly have their various schemes, (but perhaps not you, Roberts,) and holding such evening activity must be his way. But I do wonder—he knows many a fine young lady with a sizeable income and idle temper. Do you not think so?”
“True, very true. Even though I am well acquainted with Mr Watson, I am certain you know his ways better than I do, so I believe you,” replied Mr Roberts. He could not doubt Miss Phillips’s statement, but he recalled that while Mr Watson was certainly well acquainted with the ladies of Sherborne, he had never shown any particular attention to them.
At this moment, the two of them had entered Astley Hall proper; he spoke no more for now, and instead turned to look at the gathering party. Mr Watson had been expecting a large attendance, and he was not disappointed—the Johnston family, with their three sons and two daughters, had the benefit of being close acquaintances of Mr Watson’s, and they had extended his invitation to their neighbours, a humble carpenter and his wife. There was the well-to-do Matthew Knight, who at present was conversing with Mr Watson himself; and the vivacious environment was not dispelled by the local parlour-boarders, who were eager to comment on almost anything intriguing—much gossip was spread about a young lady who would make her debut.
Miss Phillips felt the need to comment: “I dare say that there is no taste in dress tonight; no embroidery on a dress is a pitiful business indeed!”
“Certainly, definitely so—nothing like your splendid dress.”
Mr Watson joined them at that moment, evidently desiring to enquire about how the party was going. With both of his friends now in his company, Mr Roberts proceeded to talk enthusiastically on the delights of talking to Miss Phillips, and the bustling atmosphere; however, he was abruptly cut off by Miss Phillips, who had noticed someone unfamiliar to her. “Watson,” she enquired, “who is the lady in the white dress?”
“Oh!—Indeed, it was rather rude of me not to introduce her to you earlier.” He gestured warmly towards the new lady, and continued. “I would like you to meet a close friend of mine, Miss Rebecca Mason. She is a sweet and temperate woman, and I believe the two of you will make good acquaintances, Miss Phillips.”
Miss Mason politely said, “How do you do, Miss Phillips.”
The pleasantries were returned, and both ladies seated. However, Miss Phillips was slightly perturbed by how much Miss Mason had been told about her—knowing Mr Watson, and his tendency to reveal all the faults of another person’s character, the prospect of her less than desirable traits being disclosed was rather harrowing. However, Miss Mason’s rather plain and unsuspicious expression suggested otherwise, and Miss Phillips felt inclined enough to enquire about her companion’s background.
She discovered that Miss Mason was the eldest daughter of one Mr Mason, a tailor from Devon. Brought up by affectionate parents and raised in a quaint little house, she had bloomed into a pleasant, kind-hearted young lady, with very little to vex her over her three-and-twenty years.
They continued in conversation, chiefly on matters of clothing and embroidery designs. Miss Phillips observed that her companion was rather reluctant to speak, but when she did, spoke with a delicate grace that would have pleased anyone. After agreeing to Miss Mason’s observations on the appeal of complex embroidery, Miss Phillips found a chance to ask about the purport of Miss Mason’s presence.
“Oh! —yes; Mr Watson was very kind to invite me tonight as a distinguished guest; he believed it an opportunity for me to appreciate high society.”
High society indeed, but you are only the daughter of a tailor; how could you ever appreciate high society!, thought Miss Phillips. She had hoped that Mr Roberts would share her sentiment, however, she was amazed to see him staring rather intently at Miss Mason. She resolved to seek his attention, and mocked: “Roberts!—Do you have your eye on our little friend now?”
Mr Roberts started. “Thank you for rousing me, Miss Phillips. Miss Mason seems to have done her corset laces quite awkwardly!—I hope you take no offence, Miss Mason.—must be a new fashion—do you mind if I?—indeed it will not do, for I will be keeping my eyes on her for the rest of the evening.—Here, let me fix this for you.”
Miss Phillips soon found herself improvidently blocked by Mr Roberts, who took the liberty of fixing Miss Mason’s laces. In vain, Miss Phillips tried to observe the effect this had on the lady—but it would not do; Miss Phillips could only imagine a growing interest between the two. As Mr Roberts sat down, however, Miss Mason betrayed no expression of covert feeling. “How intriguing indeed, my dear creature, that Mr Watson invited you tonight as a distinguished guest! Certainly he was quite aware of your circumstances?”
“Perhaps he forgot about you, and the distinction of your inheritance, Miss Phillips.” Mr Roberts suggested. “But certainly, it is rather odd.”
Miss Mason, upon hearing this unexpected affront, coloured with indignation, and quietly replied: “To be sure, Mr Watson must have meant distinguished as in ‘special’, nothing more.”
“Oh, I see.” Miss Phillips was now quite irritated by the discovery of this development—though she would not publicly admit it, she believed herself as the only distinguished guest in Astley Hall that evening. Additionally, she was concerned over Mr Roberts’s supposed liking of Miss Mason—it was quite improbable, and contrary to marrying into fame and fortune!
The sudden appearance of Mr Watson and the rest of the party could do little to quell her spirits. As she prepared to speak again, she was restrained by Mr Roberts, who had noticed Mr Watson calling for a general silence.
Mr Watson began his address. “It is my pleasure to be host to the citizens of Sherborne. Some of you have been privy to some welcome news about a new arrival to our community; tonight, I would like to introduce everyone to my close friend—Miss Rebecca Mason.”
There was a general chatter in the hall as guests proceeded to introduce themselves to Miss Mason, with Mr Watson watching closely. Miss Phillips now took the opportunity to comment to Mr Roberts: “Well, this is something new!—People are actually finding Miss Mason interesting to talk to.”
“My thoughts exactly, Miss Phillips. She is certainly a very enjoyable companion to converse with.”
Rather perplexed at her companion’s reply, Miss Phillips chose to ignore Mr Roberts, instead raising her voice, and continuing, “It is especially surprising, given that she is only the daughter of a tailor, definitely uneducated in the ways of upper-class society, and overall a very unsuitable companion! She is so reserved, with her disinterest to talk; it is really a great wonder that she even draws that much attention!”
There was a rather abrupt silence—even the loquacious parlour-boarders fell silent after Miss Phillips’s comment. Miss Mason, at first, did not catch its meaning; but when it burst on her, a deep blush and rather prompt “Excuse me” convinced the party that Miss Mason had been affected. Murmurs began to increase in the hall; there was a general division between the upper-class guests, who nodded in agreement, and those less fortunate in situation, whose mentions of “how unjust to Miss Mason!” could be heard.—Amidst this confusion, Miss Phillips felt rather proud of herself, and sought after Mr Roberts, who thankfully was nearby. She exclaimed: “I have done what was necessary.—Now people will be assured that Miss Mason is completely unworthy of being distinguished.”
“Most certainly, Miss Phillips. I could have put it no better myself.—I must excuse you, for Jonathan has called me for a word.” And with that, Mr Roberts left immediately.
Miss Phillips then approached Mr Knight, who was willing to comment on her assertion. It was an effort, however—for at that moment, an argument broke out between Mr Watson and Mr Roberts, causing all the guests to turn in unison.
“Miss Phillips will be no friend of yours, William. She speaks more than does her good; and for you to accept everything she says, without considering your own opinion of this matter, will be very dangerous to you.—Miss Mason would be a better acquaintance for you.”
Miss Phillips was taken rather aback at his condescension of towards her. She prepared to speak out, lost her moment, as Mr Watson continued:
“Tell me, William: what is your honest opinion of Miss Mason?”
“Well,” said Mr Roberts, rather hesitatingly, “it is unfortunate that she is the daughter of a tailor. But I certainly believe she is pretty and has fine manners. She would make a good wife for many a simple man; but as for me, I have no interest in anyone but Miss Phillips.”
Miss Phillips fell silent. She had never seriously considered their relationship to be any more than friendship; but upon hearing Mr Roberts proclaiming his affection for her, Miss Phillips was disgusted.—His agreeing to whatever she said, the pansy, the compliments on her dress—all to win her heart! It really was more than she could ever imagine.—While she could not assume anything about his spirits, hers were in such a mess, that she had to sit down and collect herself, only catching the occasional short phrase of “you cannot act like a puppy”. It seemed like an hour before Mr Watson finally stormed off, amazing everyone present.
Watching his friend depart, William Roberts found himself in a state of vexation. He found himself summoned by Miss Phillips, who said presently: “Roberts. You are gravely mistaken in supposing your actions sufficient to win my affection. I wish to have nothing to do with you anymore.”
“I am sorry to hear that, madam.”
“Sorry! I should be sorry for ever having been your acquaintance. And Mr Watson—his arrogance knows no equal!—To compare me with Miss Mason, who has nothing in her favour, not even goodness of character!”
It was a hopeless case for Mr Roberts to interrupt. He merely replied, (though was probably not heard,): “I shall take my leave then; good evening, Miss Phillips.”—He rose, and walked off towards the coldness of the night. He was still convinced of Miss Mason’s inferiorities; yet he felt some shame over how he had blindly accepted Miss Phillips and her slight of Miss Mason. Lingering thoughts of marriage into the Phillips estate persisted in his mind, but he was no longer interested.—No, his association with Miss Phillips had brought nothing but disappointment.
Miss Phillips was too angry to invite interest from anyone at the party, and proceeded to leave the hall. A deep resentment towards the weakness of Mr Roberts, and persistent disapprobation towards Mr Watson and Miss Mason plagued her thoughts as she called her carriage. A cold stormy rain was beginning to set in, and the gloom of the night only further plagued Miss Phillips’s ill humour. For when she entered her carriage, seen off by a cold Mr Watson, she was convinced of only one thing: she could not forgive them.
