American fiction -- 19th century; Love stories; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; San Francisco (Calif.) -- Fiction
"How different the vegetation is here from what it is with us!" she
said with nervous quickness, directing his attention to the grass road
beneath them, without lifting her eyes. "I don't mean what is
cultivated,--for I suppose it takes centuries to make the lawns they
have in England,--but even here the blades of grass seem to press
closer together, as if they were crowded or overpopulated, like the
country; and this forest, which has been always wild and was a hunting
park, has a blase look, as if it was already tired of the unchanging
traditions and monotony around it. I think over there Nature affects
and influences us: here, I fancy, it is itself affected by the people."
"I think a good deal of Nature comes over from America for that
purpose," he said dryly.
"And I think you are breaking your promise--besides being a goose!" she
retorted smartly. Nevertheless, for some occult reason they both
seemed relieved by this exquisite witticism, and trotted on amicably
together. When Paul lifted his eyes to hers he could see that they
were suffused with a tender mischief, as of a reproving yet secretly
admiring sister, and her strangely delicate complexion had taken on
itself that faint Alpine glow that was more of an illumination than a
color. "There," she said gayly, pointing with her whip as the wood
opened upon a glade through which the parted trees showed a long blue
curvature of distant hills, "you see that white thing lying like a
snowdrift on the hills?"
"Or the family washing on a hedge."
"As you please. Well, that is the villa."
"And you were very happy there?" said Paul, watching her girlishly
animated face.
"Yes; and as you don't ask questions, I'll tell you why. There is one
of the sweetest old ladies there that I ever met--the perfection of
old-time courtliness with all the motherishness of a German woman. She
was very kind to me, and, as she had no daughter of her own, I think
she treated me as if I was one. At least, I can imagine how one would
feel to her, and what a woman like that could make of any girl. You
laugh, Mr. Hathaway, you don't understand--but you don't know what an
advantage it would be to a girl to have a mother like that, and know
that she could fall back on her and hold her own against anybody.
She's equipped from the start, instead of being handicapped. It's all
very well to talk about the value of money. It can give you everything
but one thing--the power to do without it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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