A Strange Story — CompleteLytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Science
A Strange Story — Complete
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
“But it does not shine upon Homer; and learned folks tell me that we
know no more who and what Homer was, if there was ever a single Homer
at all, or rather, a whole herd of Homers, than we know about the man in
the moon,--if there be one man there, or millions of men. Now, my dear
Miss Brabazon, it will be very kind in you to divert our thoughts
into channels less gloomy. Some pretty French air--Dr. Fenwick, I have
something to say to you.” She drew me towards the window. “So Annie
Ashleigh writes me word that I am not to mention your engagement. Do you
think it quite prudent to keep it a secret?”
“I do not see how prudence is concerned in keeping it secret one way or
the other,--it is a mere matter of feeling. Most people wish to abridge,
as far as they can, the time in which their private arrangements are the
topic of public gossip.”
“Public gossip is sometimes the best security for the due completion of
private arrangements. As long as a girl is not known to be engaged,
her betrothed must be prepared for rivals. Announce the engagement, and
rivals are warned off.”
“I fear no rivals.”
“Do you not? Bold man! I suppose you will write to Lilian?”
“Certainly.”
“Do so, and constantly. By-the-way, Mrs. Ashleigh, before she went,
asked me to send her back Lady Haughton’s letter of invitation. What
for,--to show to you?”
“Very likely. Have you the letter still? May I see it?”
“Not just at present. When Lilian or Mrs. Ashleigh writes to you, come
and tell me how they like their visit, and what other guests form the
party.”
Therewith she turned away and conversed apart with the traveller.
Her words disquieted me, and I felt that they were meant to do so,
wherefore I could not guess. But there is no language on earth which has
more words with a double meaning than that spoken by the Clever Woman,
who is never so guarded as when she appears to be frank.
As I walked home thoughtfully, I was accosted by a young man, the son
of one of the wealthiest merchants in the town. I had attended him with
success some months before, in a rheumatic fever: he and his family were
much attached to me.
“Ah, my dear Fenwick, I am so glad to see you; I owe you an
obligation of which you are not aware,--an exceedingly pleasant
travelling-companion. I came with him to-day from London, where I have
been sight-seeing and holidaymaking for the last fortnight.”
“I suppose you mean that you kindly bring me a patient?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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