Jane Austen
Had Lydia and her mother known the substance of her conference with her father, their
indignation would hardly have found expression in their united volubility. In Lydia's
imagination, a visit to Brighton comprised every possibility of earthly happiness. She saw,
with the creative eye of fancy, the streets of that gay bathing-place covered with officers.
She saw herself the object of attention, to tens and to scores of them at present unknown.
She saw all the glories of the camp--its tents stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of
lines, crowded with the young and the gay, and dazzling with scarlet; and, to complete the
view, she saw herself seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at
once.
Had she known her sister sought to tear her from such prospects and such realities as
these, what would have been her sensations? They could have been understood only by her
mother, who might have felt nearly the same
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