A Widow's Tale, and Other StoriesOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
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A Widow's Tale, and Other Stories
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fiction; Short stories
"I think he will see me," she said, a little faintly. "I have come a
long way to see him. Take me to him, please."
"Is it business, ma'am?" said the girl.
"Business? yes; you may say it is business. I am his----Take me to him
at once, please."
"Oh dear, I can't do that. I ask your pardon, but the last thing the
doctor said was that he mustn't be troubled with no business."
"But I must see him," Mrs Lycett-Landon said.
"You can't, ma'am, not to-day--it's not possible. To be sure," the girl
added with a pleasant smile, "if Mrs Landon would do as well."
"Mrs----, whom----?"
"Mrs Landon--Mrs Lycett-Landon, that's her full name. Oh, didn't you
know as he was married? She'll be down in a moment if you'll step
inside."
The woman outside the door felt herself turned to stone. She said
faintly, "Yes, I think I will step inside."
"Do, ma'am: you don't look at all well; you've been standing in the sun.
Missis will be fine and angry if she knows as I let you stand like that.
Take a chair, ma'am, please. She'll be here in a moment," the cheerful
maid-servant said.
She did not ask for the visitor's name--she was evidently not accustomed
to visits of ceremony--but went up-stairs quickly, with her solid foot
sounding on every step.
The visitor for her part sat down, not feeling able to keep upon her
feet, and faintly looked round her, seeing everything, understanding
nothing. What did it all mean? The room was furnished like that of a
newly-married pair. Little decorations were about, newly-bound books, a
new little desk all ormolu and velvet; albums, photograph-frames,
trifles from Switzerland, carved and painted, like relics of a recent
journey. Nothing was in absolute bad taste, but the fashion of the
furnishing was not of the larger kind, which means wealth. It was
slightly pretty, perhaps a little tawdry, yet not sufficiently worn to
acquire that look as yet. Mingled with all this decoration, however,
there was something else which had a curious effect upon the intruder,
something that reminded her of her husband's library at home, a chair of
the form he liked, a solid table or two, strangely out of place amid the
little low sofas and _étagères_. She saw all this, and took it into her
mind at a glance, without making any of these observations upon it. She
made no observations. She was unable even to think; the maid's words
went through her head without any will of hers--"Didn't you know as he
was married?" "If Mrs Landon would do as well." Mrs Landon! Who was this
that bore her own name--who was the man up-stairs? She was not in any
hurry to be enlightened. She seemed to herself rather grateful for the
pause; glad to hold off any discovery that there might be to make with
both hands, to keep it at arm's length. She sat quite still in this
strange room, not thinking or able to think, wondering what was about to
happen--what strange thing was coming to her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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