Architects -- Fiction; Castles -- Conservation and restoration -- Fiction; Love stories; Wessex (England) -- Fiction
‘That I am artistically interested in your family history.’ And she went
out from the umbrella to the shelter of the hotel where she found her
aunt and friend.
De Stancy could not but feel that his persistence had made some
impression. It was hardly possible that a woman of independent nature
would have tolerated his dangling at her side so long, if his presence
were wholly distasteful to her. That evening when driving back to the
Hague by a devious route through the dense avenues of the Bosch he
conversed with her again; also the next day when standing by the Vijver
looking at the swans; and in each case she seemed to have at least
got over her objection to being seen talking to him, apart from the
remainder of the travelling party.
Scenes very similar to those at Scheveningen and on the Rhine were
enacted at later stages of their desultory journey. Mr. Power had
proposed to cross from Rotterdam; but a stiff north-westerly breeze
prevailing Paula herself became reluctant to hasten back to Stancy
Castle. Turning abruptly they made for Brussels.
It was here, while walking homeward from the Park one morning, that her
uncle for the first time alluded to the situation of affairs between
herself and her admirer. The captain had gone up the Rue Royale with his
sister and Mrs. Goodman, either to show them the house in which the ball
took place on the eve of Quatre Bras or some other site of interest, and
the two Powers were thus left to themselves. To reach their hotel they
passed into a little street sloping steeply down from the Rue Royale to
the Place Ste. Gudule, where, at the moment of nearing the cathedral, a
wedding party emerged from the porch and crossed in front of uncle and
niece.
‘I hope,’ said the former, in his passionless way, ‘we shall see a
performance of this sort between you and Captain De Stancy, not so very
long after our return to England.’
‘Why?’ asked Paula, following the bride with her eyes.
‘It is diplomatically, as I may say, such a highly correct thing--such
an expedient thing--such an obvious thing to all eyes.’
‘Not altogether to mine, uncle,’ she returned.
‘’Twould be a thousand pities to let slip such a neat offer of adjusting
difficulties as accident makes you in this. You could marry more tin,
that’s true; but you don’t want it, Paula. You want a name, and historic
what-do-they-call-it. Now by coming to terms with the captain you’ll be
Lady De Stancy in a few years: and a title which is useless to him, and
a fortune and castle which are in some degree useless to you, will make
a splendid whole useful to you both.’
‘I’ve thought it over--quite,’ she answered. ‘And I quite see what
the advantages are. But how if I don’t care one atom for artistic
completeness and a splendid whole; and do care very much to do what my
fancy inclines me to do?’
‘Then I should say that, taking a comprehensive view of human nature
of all colours, your fancy is about the silliest fancy existing on this
earthly ball.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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