At least, I think they were made a means of security to me.

I was so in earnest to do right, that I often thought, in terror for myself, in the midst of alluring pleasures and delights, it was a pity they had not let me be a Sister when I wanted to at first.
(I really think I had more vocation than they thought: I could have _given up_, to the end of life, without a murmur, if that is what is necessary.) As to the people who wanted to marry me, I did not care for any of them, and seemed to have much less coquetry than of old.

They simply did not interest me, (of course, in a few years, I had outgrown the love that I had supposed to be so immortal.) It was very pleasant to be always attended to, and to have more constant homage than any other young woman whom I saw.

But as to liking particularly any of the men themselves, it never occurred to me to think of it.
I was placed by my fortunate circumstances rather above the intrigue, and detraction, and heart-burning, that attends the social struggle for life in ordinary cases.

If I were envied, I did not know it, and I had small reason to envy anybody else, being quite the queen.
I enjoyed above measure, the bright and pleasant things that I had at my command: the sunny rooms of my pretty house: the driving, the sailing, the dancing: all that charms a healthy young taste, and is innocent.