“The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. Bordered by fine timber, the road occasionally offered glimpses of a lovely valley, until a wider opening gave a full view of a delightful and varied prospect. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights.
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