Boardinghouses -- Juvenile fiction; London (England) -- Juvenile fiction; Love stories; Mothers and daughters -- Juvenile fiction
"And you two young engaged creatures will have no end of opportunities
for flirtation," she said; "I won't be much in the way. You may be
quite sure that the old mother will efface herself in order to give
her son and her dear new daughter every possible opportunity for
enjoying life. Ah! my dear, there is no time like the engaged
period--the man makes such a fuss about you then. He don't afterwards,
dear; I may as well be frank, but he don't--the best of 'em even take
you as if you were common clay; but beforehand you're something of an
angel, and they treat you according. It's the way of all men, dear, it
is the way of every single one of 'em. Now Albert, for instance, I
declare at times I scarcely know him. He used to be a matter-of-fact
sort of body, but he is changed in all sorts of ways; and as to the
way he speaks of you, you'd think you weren't common clay at all, that
your feet had never yet touched the earth. He drives me past patience
almost at times; but I say to myself, 'Thank goodness, it won't last.'
That's my one consolation, for I cannot bear those high-falutin'
ideas, although there's nothing Albert does that seems really wrong to
me. He said to me only yesterday, 'Mother, I have a kind of awe over
me when I am with her; she is not like any one else, she is so dainty,
and so----' I declare I almost laughed in his face; but there, I
didn't, and doubtless he has told you those sort of things himself. I
don't want to see you blush. Not that you do blush, Westenra; I must
say you take things pretty cool. I suppose it is breeding. They say it
takes a power of good breeding to get that calm which it strikes me
you have to perfection. I never saw any one else with it except that
Mr. Randolph, who, I hear, wasn't drowned at all, but came back as
safe as ever a few days ago. Well, well, I'm off now. You wouldn't
like to come back to the Métropole to me and Albert the day her
ladyship goes, would you, child? Say out frankly if you have a wish
that way."
"No," I answered, "I have not a wish that way. I will meet you at
Victoria Station. I would rather stay here until then."
"Well, well, good-bye, my dearie," said the stout old woman, and she
embraced me with her voluminous arms, and patted me on my cheek.
But although she came, as I said, twice, Albert did not come at all,
and I thought it extremely nice of him. New proofs of his kindness
were meeting me at every turn. He wrote to me several times, and in
each letter said that he knew perfectly well that I meant to be free
until the year was up, and that he was not going to worry me with
overmuch love-making, or any nonsense of that sort; but he thought I
would like Switzerland, and the change would do me good, and although
he would not say much, and would not even ask me to go out walking
with him unless I wished it, yet I was to be certain of one thing,
that he was ready to lay down his life for me, and that I was the one
thought of his heart, the one treasure of his soul.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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