Tweak CSS

src/epub/css/local.css

@@ -25,12 +25,9 @@ table{
 
 table td:last-child{
 	font-variant-numeric: tabular-nums;
+	padding-left: 1em;
 	text-align: right;
 }
-
-td:first-child{
-	padding-right: 1em;
-}
 /* end table */
 
 /* Begin verse */
@@ -51,10 +48,11 @@ td:first-child{
 /* end verse */
 
 /* Bespoke styling, c21 */
-small{
-	vertical-align: 20%;
-}
-
 #chapter-21 span{
 	font-size: larger;
 }
+
+#chapter-21 span + span{
+	font-size: smaller;
+	vertical-align: 20%;
+}

src/epub/text/chapter-21.xhtml

@@ -10,7 +10,7 @@
 			<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XXI</h2>
 			<p>It was thus that <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Cavendish, without particularly meaning it, impressed upon two interesting and amiable young women on the same day the conviction that he was about to propose, without in either case realising that expectation. After this last exploit he went home with his head more confused, and his will more undecided, than ever. For he had one of those perverse minds which cling to everything that is forbidden; and the idea that he ought not to have gone near Barbara Lake, and that he ought not to see her again, made him more anxious to seek her out and follow her than he had ever been before. If such a thing had been permissible in England as that a man might marry one wife for his liking and another for his interests, the matter might have been compromised by proposing to them both; and there cannot be a doubt that Lucilla, in such a case, would very soon have triumphed over her handsome, sullen, passionate rival. But then such a way of conciliating a man with himself does not exist in the British Islands, and consequently was not to be thought of. And to be sure, every time he came to think of it, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Cavendish saw more and more clearly what a fool he would be to marry Barbara, who was evidently so ready to marry him. The same thing could not with any confidence be predicated of Miss Marjoribanks, though, if she were to accept him, and her father were to consent, nothing could be better for his interests. All this he felt, and yet an unconquerable reluctance kept him back. His history was not quite spotless, and there were chapters in it which he thought it would kill him to have brought before the public of Carlingford; but still he was far from being a bad fellow in his way. And down at the bottom of his heart, out of everybody’s sight, and unacknowledged even by himself, there was one little private nook full of gratitude to Lucilla. Though he scarcely knew what was passing at the moment, he knew, when he came to think of it, that she had saved him from the effects of his first panic at the unexpected appearance of <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Beverley. Perhaps it was partly this consciousness that made him so embarrassed in her presence; and he could not find it in his heart, with this sense of gratitude, to deceive her, and say he loved her, and ask her to marry him. To be sure, if <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Cavendish had been a very acute observer, he might have felt that Lucilla was quite able to take care of herself in such an emergency, and was at the least a match for him, however seductive he might appear to others; but then, few people are acute observers in a matter so entirely personal to themselves.</p>
 			<p>He felt furious with himself as he went home, and thought how foolish he had been ever to go near Barbara Lake in the present position of affairs; and yet he could not help feeling that it was more delightful to him to see the colour blaze into her cheeks, and the song rise like a bird from her full crimson lips, and that flush of excitement and triumph come from her eyes, than it could have been in any case to have been admitted to the same degree of intimacy with Lucilla, who was not in the least intoxicated by his presence. Thus the unfortunate man was torn asunder, not so much by love and duty, as by inclination and interest, though the inclination was not strong enough to have allowed of any great sacrifice, nor the interest sufficiently certain to have repaid the exertion. This only made it the more difficult to decide; and in his circumstances, and with the panic that pursued him, he did not feel it possible to adopt the only wise policy that remained to him, and wait.</p>
-			<p>As <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Cavendish was thus making his way home, horribly vexed and annoyed with himself, and avoiding Grange Lane as if the plague was in it, Miss Marjoribanks sat in her drawing-room alone, and thought the matter over. Certainly she had not expected him that evening, but still, when she heard ten o’clock strike, and felt that his coming now absolutely impossible, she was a little⁠—not exactly disappointed, but annoyed at herself for having felt a sort of expectation. Lucilla was not a person to hide her sentiments, or even to conceal a fact which was disagreeable to her amour propre. She had too thorough and well-founded a confidence in the natural interest of the world in all belonging to her to do that; so when ten o’clock had done striking, she opened her blotting-book and took one of her pretty sheets of paper, with <span>L</span><small>ucilla</small> on it in delicate rose-tinted letters, the <i epub:type="z3998:grapheme">L</i> very large, and the concluding letters very small, and dashed off her note to <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Chiley. The Miss Blounts’ at Mount Pleasant had been one of the very first establishments to forsake the handwriting which was all corners, in favour of the bold running hand of the present female generation; and it was accordingly in a very free and strongly-characterised manuscript, black with much ink, that Miss Marjoribanks wrote:</p>
+			<p>As <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Cavendish was thus making his way home, horribly vexed and annoyed with himself, and avoiding Grange Lane as if the plague was in it, Miss Marjoribanks sat in her drawing-room alone, and thought the matter over. Certainly she had not expected him that evening, but still, when she heard ten o’clock strike, and felt that his coming now absolutely impossible, she was a little⁠—not exactly disappointed, but annoyed at herself for having felt a sort of expectation. Lucilla was not a person to hide her sentiments, or even to conceal a fact which was disagreeable to her amour propre. She had too thorough and well-founded a confidence in the natural interest of the world in all belonging to her to do that; so when ten o’clock had done striking, she opened her blotting-book and took one of her pretty sheets of paper, with <span>L</span><span>ucilla</span> on it in delicate rose-tinted letters, the <i epub:type="z3998:grapheme">L</i> very large, and the concluding letters very small, and dashed off her note to <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Chiley. The Miss Blounts’ at Mount Pleasant had been one of the very first establishments to forsake the handwriting which was all corners, in favour of the bold running hand of the present female generation; and it was accordingly in a very free and strongly-characterised manuscript, black with much ink, that Miss Marjoribanks wrote:</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
 				<p><b epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dearest <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Chiley</b>⁠—I never expected him to come, and he has not. I dare say he never meant it. I am so glad. It was Providence that sent you at that particular moment today.⁠—Always in haste, with fond love, your most truly affectionate</p>
 				<footer>