Explore "Lavinia" by Rhoda Broughton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"I love nothing so well as you! / Is not that strange?"
Rupert _is_ "all right. " Of that there can be no question. It turns out now that he has been "all right" for as long as he can remember. The discovery that it is only his delicacy and self-command that have hitherto hindered his manifesting his "all-rightness" practically, fills Lavinia with such admiring gratitude as makes her almost certain that she is "all right" too. She has no female friend with whom to compare notes, nor would she do so if she had, her one intimate, Mrs. Darcy, being very far from belonging to that not innumerous band of matrons who enjoy revealing the secrets of their own prison-house to a selected few. Lavinia has to work out her problem for herself. Not betrothed only now, but going to be married, with a tray of engagement-rings crawling down from London by the South-Eastern for approval, with a disinterring by Sir George, from his dead wife's presses, of wedding laces -- --