Christabel Coleridge - Amethyst - The Story of a Beauty

“Oh,” said Sylvester, starting up and laughing, “there is no use in talking about the ideal to either of you.”

Perhaps he had been impelled to do so, by the consciousness that his feelings concerning the engagement were watched.

He had known, as he said, from the first, that Amethyst was Lucian’s property; but she had so filled his imagination, that he could not help thinking of her, and fancied he had found a way of doing so, compatible with the turn events had taken. Of course he was not quite in earnest, or rather, he hid the earnestness of which he was conscious, under a veil of fine talking.

He thought of little except of Amethyst and Lucian, but by talking of her he could prove to himself that the thinking was not painful. No, rather it was sweet to compare her to all the fair impersonations of poetry and art.

This peculiar feeling for her was surely quite compatible with his own happiness, when she was Lucian’s wife. Then came the encounter at the post-office, perplexing him extremely; so that he thought of little else, until the day arrived for the garden-party at his cousin’s at Loseby Hall, to which he repaired with his father and aunt, thinking only that he should there see Amethyst. The weather was fine, the gardens beautiful, and half the neighbourhood were gathered on the wide smooth lawn, or scattered about in the paths and shrubberies.

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