Junius.—What! nothing of it! nothing.
Cornelia.—Nothing whatever.
Junius.—Oh! Cornelia, you are certainly jesting. What! go on purpose to see the launch, and still not see it!
Mrs. Camelford.—My beloved Cornelia, you alarm me. I hope you have not been ill.
Cornelia.—No, my dear mother, not at all. But, indeed, I have been very much disappointed.
Octavia.—Oh! pray tell us how.
Cornelia.—Mrs. Dimsdale sat with me in the ladies' cabin of the steam-boat, till her husband, who had been on deck with the children, came to conduct her up stairs, as the time for the frigate to go off was drawing very near. She then tried to persuade me that no harm could possibly arise from my going on deck for a few minutes, and, to own the truth, I thought so myself. But I told her that I had obtained permission to go in the steam-boat, only upon condition of remaining all the time in the cabin, and I could, on no account, break my promise and disobey my mother. She then complimented me by saying that I was the most obedient and conscientious child she had ever known, and expressing her regret that I could not accompany her, she ran hastily on deck with Mr. Dimsdale, lest she should be too late.
Octavia.—But could you have no view from the cabin?
Cornelia.—I had anticipated no difficulty, but when I rose to look out, I found the windows entirely blocked up with women and babies, of whom there are always so many in steam-boats. The shelves or high seats at the stern were covered with them, crowded so closely that they seemed almost wedged into a mass. I climbed up and tried to get a peep between their heads, but all in vain, for they were pressing on each other's shoulders. For a moment, I was tempted to go on deck; but I remembered my promise. Suddenly, I heard an exclamation of "There she goes," and I knew by the shouts, the firing, and the music, that the frigate was moving. In vain I stretched my neck and strained my eyes, to catch a glimpse between the heads and bonnets; all the windows were entirely filled, and I had not the smallest chance of seeing any thing. I soon gave up all hope; I sat down in a chair, and I acknowledge that I could not help crying a little, though I took care to conceal my tears as much as I could. And perhaps I would not have cried, only that my long illness had weakened my spirits.
Junius.—(Taking her hand)—Oh! yes, my poor Cornelia, you would have cried all the same, even if you had not been weak and ill. I am certain you would, for it was a disappointment worth crying for.