Country life -- England -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction
He had a slight shock of surprise, however, not altogether agreeable,
when Caroline, during the course of the morning, told him of what had
happened to her.
She linked her arm affectionately in his. "Come for a stroll, darling,"
she said. "It's rather nice to have got rid of everybody, and be just
ourselves again, isn't it?"
She led him to the lily pond. Although everything was finished there
now, and neither the yews nor the newly laid turf could have been
expected to come together between their frequent visits, they went to
look at it several times a day, just to see how it was getting on. So
there was no difficulty in drawing him there; and, as other members of
the family were satisfied with less frequent inspection, they were not
likely to be disturbed.
"Come and sit down," she said, when they had stood for some time by the
pool, and discussed the various water-lilies that they had sunk there,
tied up between the orthodox turfs. "I want to talk to you."
They sat down on the stone seat. "Talk away!" he said, taking a
cigarette out of his case.
Caroline took cigarette and case away from him. "Darling," she said,
"you didn't select it. In books they always _select_ a cigarette,
usually with care. I'll do it for you."
She gave him a cigarette, took his matchbox out of his pocket, and lit
it for him. "I'm really only doing this to save time," she said. "I have
a confession to make. The last time I sat on this seat I was proposed
to."
"The devil!" exclaimed her father, staring at her.
"No, darling, not the devil. I'm not so bad as that. Don't be offensive
to your little daughter--or profane."
"Who was it? Francis Parry?"
"Yes, darling. You've got it in one. It was last night. The moon was
shining and the yews looked _almost_ like a real hedge. Rather a score
for our garden, I think."
He took a draw at his cigarette and inhaled it. "Well, if that's the way
you take it, I suppose you didn't accept him," he said.
Having taken the fence of introducing the subject, she became more
serious. "No, I didn't accept him," she said. "But I didn't refuse him
either. I wanted to talk to you about it first."
That pleased him. At this time of day one no longer expected to have the
disposal of one's daughter's hand, or to be asked for permission to pay
addresses to her, if the man who paid them was justified in doing so by
his social and financial position, and probably even less so if he
wasn't. But it was gratifying that his daughter should put his claims on
her so high that she would not give her answer until she had consulted
him about it first.
"Well, darling," he said, "I don't want you to marry anybody just yet.
But Francis Parry is a very nice fellow. I'd just as soon you married
him as anybody if you want to. Do you?"
"Perhaps I might," she said doubtfully. "I do like him. I think we
should get on all right together." There was a slight pause. "He likes
Dickens," she added.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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