So much the
better. And then you came and took care of me, and he desired you to do
so. That was well enough. But I am more obliged to you for your kindness
and assiduity, than I am to him only for thinking of it. And then to
tell you the truth, but I ought not to say so to you who are his
friends, there is something about him, I cannot tell what, that does not
please me at all. He looks discontented, and fierce, as if there was no
such thing as soothing and managing him. But why do I say all this? Pray
now let me go, let me go to my dear, dear mother."
"Sweet Imogen," replied the attendant, who seemed to take the lead in
the circle, "how lovely and amiable are you even in your resentments!
They are not with you a morose and gloomy sullenness brooding over
imaginary wrongs, and collecting venom and malice from every corner to
the heart. In your breast anger itself takes a milder form, and is
gentle, generous and gay. Yet why, my Imogen, should you harbour any
anger against your protector?"
Such was the honest and artless dialogue of Imogen. The attendants
rather endeavoured to beguile the time, by dexterously starting new
topics of conversation, upon which Imogen delivered her plain and
natural sentiments with the utmost sincerity, than to detain her by open
force.
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