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Whether it was this idea, namely, that it was her duty, or whether it was that passion came to her, unsought, somewhat late in life, and therefore all the stronger, she herself would perhaps have been unable to declare. Certain only it is that at over thirty years of age this clever, sensible, clear-seeing woman fell to sighing and blushing, starting and stammering at the sounding of a name, as though for all the world she had been a love-sick girl in her teens. Susan Fossett, her bosom friend, brought the strange tidings to Bohemia one foggy November afternoon, her opportunity being a tea-party given by Peter Hope to commemorate the birthday of his adopted daughter and sub-editor, Jane Helen, commonly called Tommy. The actual date of Tommys birthday was known only to the gods; but out of the London mist to wifeless, childless Peter she had come the evening of a certain November the eighteenth, and therefore by Peter and his friends November the eighteenth had been marked upon the calendar as a day on which they should rejoice together. It is bound to leak out sooner or later, Susan Fossett was convinced, so I may as well tell you: that gaby Mary Ramsbotham has got herself engaged. Nonsense! was Peter Hopes involuntary ejaculation. Precisely what I mean to tell her the very next time I see her, added Susan. Who to? demanded Tommy. You mean to whom. The preeposition governs the objective case, corrected her James Douglas McTear, commonly called The Wee Laddie, who himself wrote English better than he spoke it. I meant to whom, explained Tommy. Ye didna say it, persisted the Wee Laddie. I dont know to whom, replied Miss Ramsbothams bosom friend, sipping tea and breathing indignation. To something idiotic and incongruous that will make her life a misery to her. Somerville, the briefless, held that in the absence of all data such conclusion was unjustifiable. If it had been to anything sensible, was Miss Fossetts opinion, she would not have kept me in the dark about it, to spring it upon me like a bombshell. Ive never had so much as a hint from her until I received this absurd scrawl an hour ago. Miss Fossett produced from her bag a letter written in pencil. There can be no harm in your hearing it, was Miss Fossetts excuse; it will give you an idea of the state of the poor things mind. The tea-drinkers left their cups and gathered round her. Dear Susan, read Miss Fossett, I shall not be able to be with you to-morrow. Please get me out of it nicely. I cant remember at the moment what it is. Youll be surprised to hear that Im engagedto be married, I mean. I can hardly realise it. I hardly seem to know where I am. Have just made up my mind to run down to Yorkshire and see grandmamma. I must do something. I must talk to somebody andforgive me, dearbut you are so sensible, and just nowwell I dont feel sensible. Will tell you all about it when I see younext week, perhaps. You must try to like him. He is so handsome and really cleverin his own way. Dont scold me. I never thought it possible that anyone could be so happy. Its quite a different sort of happiness to any other sort of happiness. I dont know how to describe it. Please ask Burcot to let me off the antequarian congress. I feel I should do it badly. I am so thankful he has no relativesin England. I should have been so terribly nervous. Twelve hours ago I could not have dreamt of it, and nowI walk on tiptoe for fear of waking up. Did I leave my chinchilla at your rooms? Dont be angry with me. I should have told you if I had known. In haste. Yours, Mary. |
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