A Little Journey in the WorldWarner, Charles Dudley
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A Little Journey in the World
Warner, Charles Dudley
American fiction -- 19th century
“Oh, since the sun has gone away, I think I'm quite up to the exertion,
since you wish it, auntie,” a speech that made Henderson stare again,
wholly unable to comprehend the reason of an indirection which he could
feel--he who had been all day impatient for this moment. There was
a little talk about the country and the city at this season, mainly
sustained by Miss Forsythe and Henderson, and then he was left alone.
“Of course you should go, Margaret,” said her aunt, as they went
upstairs; “it would not be at all the thing for me to leave you here.
And what a fine, manly, engaging fellow Mr. Henderson is!”
“Yes, he acts very much like a man;” and Margaret was gone into her
room.
Go? There was not force enough in the commonwealth, without calling out
the militia, to keep Margaret from going to the dinner. She stopped a
moment in the middle of her chamber to think. She had almost forgotten
how he looked--his eyes, his smile. Dear me! how the birds were singing
outside, and how fresh the world was! And she would not hurry. He could
wait. No doubt he would wait now any length of time for her. He was in
the house, in the room below, perhaps looking out of the window, perhaps
reading, perhaps spying about at her knick-knacks--she would like to
look in at the door a moment to see what he was doing. Of course he was
here to see her, and all the business was a pretext. As she sat a moment
upon the edge of her bed reflecting what to put on, she had a little
pang that she had been doing him injustice in her thought. But it was
only for an instant. He was here. She was not in the least flurried.
Indeed, her mental processes were never clearer than when she settled
upon her simple toilet, made as it was in every detail with the sure
instinct of a woman who dresses for her lover. Heavens! what a miserable
day it had been, what a rebellious day! He ought to be punished for
it somehow. Perhaps the rose she put in her hair was part of the
punishment. But he should not see how happy she was; she would be civil,
and just a little reserved; it was so like a man to make a woman wait
all day and then think he could smooth it all over simply by appearing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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