Autobiographical fiction; England -- Fiction; Feminist fiction; Governesses -- Fiction; Single women -- Fiction
“And some time,” said she, “I will show you the library: I never
examined its shelves, but, I daresay, it is full of wise books; and you
may go and burrow among them whenever you please. And now you shall
have some tea—it will soon be dinner-time, but I thought, as you were
accustomed to dine at one, you would perhaps like better to have a cup
of tea about this time, and to dine when we lunch: and then, you know,
you can have your tea in this room, and that will save you from having
to dine with Lady Ashby and Sir Thomas: which would be rather
awkward—at least, not awkward, but rather—a—you know what I mean. I
thought you mightn’t like it so well—especially as we may have other
ladies and gentlemen to dine with us occasionally.”
“Certainly,” said I, “I would much rather have it as you say, and, if
you have no objection, I should prefer having all my meals in this
room.”
“Why so?”
“Because, I imagine, it would be more agreeable to Lady Ashby and Sir
Thomas.”
“Nothing of the kind.”
“At any rate it would be more agreeable to me.”
She made some faint objections, but soon conceded; and I could see that
the proposal was a considerable relief to her.
“Now, come into the drawing-room,” said she. “There’s the dressing
bell; but I won’t go yet: it’s no use dressing when there’s no one to
see you; and I want to have a little discourse.”
The drawing-room was certainly an imposing apartment, and very
elegantly furnished; but I saw its young mistress glance towards me as
we entered, as if to notice how I was impressed by the spectacle, and
accordingly I determined to preserve an aspect of stony indifference,
as if I saw nothing at all remarkable. But this was only for a moment:
immediately conscience whispered, “Why should I disappoint her to save
my pride? No—rather let me sacrifice my pride to give her a little
innocent gratification.” And I honestly looked round, and told her it
was a noble room, and very tastefully furnished. She said little, but I
saw she was pleased.
She showed me her fat French poodle, that lay curled up on a silk
cushion, and the two fine Italian paintings: which, however, she would
not give me time to examine, but, saying I must look at them some other
day, insisted upon my admiring the little jewelled watch she had
purchased in Geneva; and then she took me round the room to point out
sundry articles of _vertu_ she had brought from Italy: an elegant
little timepiece, and several busts, small graceful figures, and vases,
all beautifully carved in white marble. She spoke of these with
animation, and heard my admiring comments with a smile of pleasure:
that soon, however, vanished, and was followed by a melancholy sigh; as
if in consideration of the insufficiency of all such baubles to the
happiness of the human heart, and their woeful inability to supply its
insatiate demands.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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