It sounds more like a chapter out of
the 'Castle of Otranto,' or the 'Mysteries of Udolpho,' than an incident
in the life of a modern New York belle. For, of course, you know, Madame
Miriam," concluded the pretty coquette, tossing back airily all her
bright curls, "I am a belle--a reigning belle--the beauty of the
season!"
"A little conceited, goosey girl--that's what you are, Mollie Dane, whom
ever this terrible event can not make serious and sensible."
"Terrible event! Now, Miriam, I'm not so sure about that. If I liked
the hero of the adventure--and I have liked some of my rejected
flirtees, poor fellows!--I should admire his pluck, and fall straightway
in love with him for his romantic daring. It is so like what those old
fellows--knights and barons and things--used to do, you know. And if I
didn't like him--if it were Sardonyx or Oleander--sure, there would be
the fun and fame of having my name in all the papers in the country as
the heroine of the most romantic adventure of modern times. There would
be sensation novels and high-pressure melodramas manufactured out of it,
and I would figure in the Divorce Court, and wake up some day, like Lord
Byron, and find myself famous.
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