"Alas! he will never give me an opportunity, Julia."
"Then make one, Penelope. If you love him as truly as you say you do, he is worth the sacrifice of an ill-judged pride. You have offended him; express your regrets courageously, and recover his esteem."
"I should die before the words could be spoken, Julia," said her friend, rising from her attitude of humility, and reseating herself.—"I should die while I was confessing my sorrow. Don't ask me to acknowledge error; it would be a bitter task, and I never can sue for a husband—no, that I never, never can do."
"My dear Penelope...."
"Think of any other way, Julia, but not that dreadfully degrading task of imploring pardon—of bowing down before an offended lover! I should never again be able to assert my power!"
"We see things very differently, Penelope. Remember the extremely keen feelings of Mr. Spottiswoode, and the pain he has suffered in your flirtation with Henry Tyndal!"
"He has brought it upon himself."
"And you are content to resign Mr. Spottiswoode for the indulgence of false pride, Penelope—to lose the affection of a kind, constant lover, because you cannot condescend to say you were wrong! Then Lady Anna will be a happy woman if she can succeed you."
"You drive me wild with naming Lady Anna!" cried Miss Wycherly. "No one shall succeed me in Charles Spottiswoode's heart, or I'll not stay at Lidham to see it. I believe I am proud, Julia, too proud for my peace of mind, but I shall never conquer it; it will drive me to my grave."
"Struggle against such an ignoble passion, Penelope."