 cup of tea.
Not that I in the least anticipated any such catastrophe; it being a remarkable
truth, that custom has in no one point a greater sway than over our modes of
wreaking our wild passions. And, besides, had we been in Italy, instead of New
England, it was hardly yet a crisis for the dagger or the bowl.
    It often amazed me, however, that Hollingsworth should show himself so
recklessly tender towards Priscilla, and never once seem to think of the effect
which it might have upon her heart. But the man, as I have endeavored to
explain, was thrown completely off his moral balance, and quite bewildered as to
his personal relations, by his great excrescence of a philanthropic scheme. I
used to see, or fancy, indications that he was not altogether obtuse to
Zenobia's influence as a woman. No doubt, however, he had a still more exquisite
enjoyment of Priscilla's silent sympathy with his purposes, so unalloyed with
criticism, and therefore more grateful than any intellectual approbation, which
always involves a possible reserve of latent censure. A man - poet, prophet, or
whatever he may be - readily persuades himself of his right to all the worship
that is voluntarily tendered. In requital of so rich benefits as he was to
confer upon mankind, it would have been hard to deny Hollingsworth the simple
solace of a young girl's heart, which he held in his hand, and smelled to, like
a rosebud. But what if, while pressing out its fragrance, he should crush the
tender rosebud in his grasp!
    As for Zenobia, I saw no occasion to give myself any trouble. With her
native strength, and her experience of the world, she could not be supposed to
need any help of mine. Nevertheless, I was really generous enough to feel some
little interest likewise for Zenobia. With all her faults, (which might have
been a great many, besides the abundance that I knew of,) she possessed noble
traits, and a heart which must at least have been valuable while new. And she
seemed ready to fling it away, as uncalculatingly as Priscilla herself. I could
not but suspect, that, if merely at play with Hollingsworth, she was sporting
with a power which she did not fully estimate. Or, if in earnest, it might
chance, between Zenobia's passionate force and his dark, self-delusive egotism,
to turn out such earnest as would develop itself in some sufficiently tragic
catastrophe, though the dagger and the bowl should go for nothing in it.
    Meantime,
