Explore "Lucretia, Volume V" by Edward Bulwer-lytton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
During this conference between these execrable and ravening birds of night and prey, Helen and her boy-lover were thus conversing in the garden; while the autumn sun -- for it was in the second week of October -- broke pleasantly through the yellowing leaves of the tranquil shrubs, and the flowers, which should have died with the gone summer, still fresh by tender care, despite the lateness of the season, smiled gratefully as their light footsteps passed.
"Yes, Helen," said Percival, -- "yes, you will love my mother, for she is one of those people who seem to attract love, as if it were a property belonging to them. Even my dog Beau (you know how fond Beau is of me! ) always nestles at her feet when we are at home. I own she has pride, but it is a pride that never offended any one. You know there are some flowers that we call proud. The pride of the flower is not more harmless than my mother's. But perhaps pride is not the right word, -- it is rather the aversion to anything low or mean, the admiration for everything pure and high. Ah, how that very pride -- if pride it be -- will make her love you, my Helen!"