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"'I am bad company, Miss Franklin,' said he, at last recollecting himself; 'but I have met with something to-day that has greatly distressed me, and I cannot shake off the disagreeable impression it has made on my mind.'"

— Rowson, Susanna (1762-1828)

Author

Rowson, Susanna (1762-1828)

Work Title

Charlotte: A Tale of Truth [Charlotte Temple]

Place of Publication

London

Publisher

Printed for William Lane, at the Minerva

Date

1791, 1794

Metaphor

"'I am bad company, Miss Franklin,' said he, at last recollecting himself; 'but I have met with something to-day that has greatly distressed me, and I cannot shake off the disagreeable impression it has made on my mind.'"

Metaphor in Context

At that instant Julia Franklin passed the window, leaning on her uncle's arm. She curtseyed as she passed, and, with the bewitching smile of modest chearfulness, cried -- "Do you bury yourselves in the house this fine evening, gents?" There was something in the voice! the manner! the look! that was altogether irresistible. "Perhaps she wishes my company," said Montraville mentally, as he snatched up his hat: "if I thought she loved me, I would confess my errors, and trust to her generosity to pity and pardon me." He soon overtook her, and offering her his arm, they sauntered to pleasant but unfrequented walks. Belcour drew Mr. Franklin on one side and entered into a political discourse: they walked faster than the young people, and Belcour by some means contrived entirely to lose sight of them. It was a fine evening in the beginning of autumn; the last remains of day-light faintly streaked the western sky, while the moon, with pale and virgin lustre in the room of gorgeous gold and purple, ornamented the canopy of heaven with silver, fleecy clouds, which now and then half hid her lovely face, and, by partly concealing, heightened every beauty; the zephyrs whispered softly through the trees, which now began to shed their leafy honours; a solemn silence reigned: and to a happy mind an evening such as this would give serenity, and calm, unruffled pleasure; but to Montraville, while it soothed the turbulence of his passions, it brought increase of melancholy reflections. Julia was leaning on his arm: he took her hand in his, and pressing it tenderly, sighed deeply, but continued silent. Julia was embarrassed; she wished to break a silence so unaccountable, but was unable; she loved Montraville, she saw he was unhappy, and wished to know the cause of his uneasiness, but that innate modesty, which nature has implanted in the female breast, prevented her enquiring. "I am bad company, Miss Franklin," said he, at last recollecting himself; "but I have met with something to-day that has greatly distressed me, and I cannot shake off the disagreeable impression it has made on my mind."
(II.xxiv, pp. 93-4 in Penguin edition)