A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 2 of 3)Marryat, Florence
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A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 2 of 3)
Marryat, Florence
English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
‘Yes, dear Mrs Rodwell, I think I had better do so. Lady Cunningham will
not be late to-night, and you know how particular she is about my being
home before her. Please let me go.’
‘Well, dear, it must not be so long again before we see you. We must try
and get up a few parties this winter, as it will be Amy’s last in the
home circle. And mind, Lizzie, you are to be one of her bridesmaids; she
insists upon it.’
‘Ah! She is very kind, as you all are, but we will talk of that when the
time comes. Good-night, dear Mrs Rodwell. Kiss the girls for me. I won’t
go into the drawing-room, such a figure as I am.’
But Mrs Rodwell accompanied me down the stairs, conversing as she went.
‘I am sorry the doctor is from home, my dear; he would have seen you
round to Northampton Lodge; but he is never to be depended on from one
hour to another, you know.’
‘Oh, it is of no consequence, Mrs Rodwell; I am used to going alone.’
‘But I don’t half like your doing it, Lizzie: the night is so very dark,
and—’
‘Allow me to have the pleasure of accompanying Miss Lacy, Mrs Rodwell,’
said the voice of Bruce Armytage. We had reached the drawing-room floor
by that time, and he stood on the threshold of the open door.
‘No, no!’ I exclaimed, as I shrank backward; ‘I do not desire it—I
would rather go alone;’ and with a hasty kiss on Mrs Rodwell’s cheek, I
ran down the remaining stairs and out at the hall door. The wind was
blowing fresh and cold as I turned into the open air, and the night was
very dark, but I thought of nothing but his offer to accompany me, and I
hurried onward. Did he wish to add insult to injury?
But I had not gone far when I heard the sound of footsteps running after
me; and I had hardly realised it was indeed himself before he was by my
side, apologising for his presence by the excuse that Mrs Rodwell had
desired him to overtake me and see me home. Would I forgive what might
otherwise seem an intrusion to me? I was too indignant to vouchsafe him
any answer.
We walked on in silence side by side for several minutes, I with my
head bent down and holding my thick cloak around me, and he vainly
endeavouring to look me in the face. At last, as though making a great
effort, he cleared his throat, and said,—
‘I suppose, after the manner in which you spoke to me at the piano this
evening, my pride ought to forbid my attempting any further explanation
with you, but in this case I have one feeling more powerful than pride,
Miss Lacy, and I must ask you what you meant by saying that all that
this world could give of solace was yours?’
‘I meant what I said,’ I answered abruptly, ‘or rather, that I require no
pity from you or any other stranger. Our paths in life are widely enough
divided now: let each walk in his own track, without interfering with the
other.’
‘That is easier said than done, perhaps,’ he replied; ‘it is difficult in
this world for people to forget what they have been.’
‘It does not appear so to me.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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