England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Genealogy -- Fiction
It was a perfect bombshell. To Maud, sitting by wearily, with her small
violin clasped in her bloodless hands, the announcement came like a
thunderbolt. He was going to Oxford! She turned deadly pale at once, and
clutched the bow of her instrument with a spasmodic action. Mary Tudor,
sitting near, noticed the pallor on her cheek, and guessed the cause of
it instantly. The two girls looked up; for a second their eyes met, then
Maud let hers drop suddenly. Though on that one dearest point Dick had
never taken her into his confidence, Maud had guessed the whole truth
during last Christmas vacation, and if anything could make the cup of
her bitterness even bitterer than it was, 'twas the thought that Dick's
friend, Dick's future wife, perhaps, should see and understand the full
depths of her misery.
Mary had tact enough and feeling enough, however, not to press her
sympathy upon the poor wounded creature. With a hasty side-glance she
hurried her charges out of the room as quick as she could, and motioned
to the other governesses to do the same for theirs with all possible
expedition. Two minutes later the big hall was fairly cleared, and
father and daughter stood face to face in silence.
If Maud had followed only the prompting of her own personal feelings,
she would have sat down where she was, covered her face with her hands,
and cried long and bitterly.
But her sense of duty towards her father prevented her from so giving
way. She couldn't bear to let him see how deeply, for Dick's sake, she
dreaded the idea of his going to Oxford. All she could do was to look
up at him with a scared white face, and murmur in a terrified,
half-articulate tone: 'Oh, father, father, you never told me of this!
What on earth do you mean by it?'
Mr. Plantagenet eyed his daughter askance out of the corner of his eyes.
He was more afraid of Maud than of anyone else on earth; in point of
fact, she was his domestic keeper. But he tried to assume his jaunty,
happy-go-lucky air, for all that.
'Well, my dear,' he said, examining the strings of his fiddle with
profound attention, 'I haven't had a holiday for a very long time, away
from Chiddingwick, and I'm tired with the duties--the duties of my very
exacting profession--and I felt I needed a change, and I haven't been up
to Oxford since your brother Richard entered into residence as a member
of the University. Now, I naturally feel a desire to see my son in that
position in life which a Plantagenet ought to occupy. And so, the long
and the short of it is,' Mr. Plantagenet went on, shuffling about, and
glancing up at her anxiously, 'the long and the short of it is, as you
heard me inform my class just now, I think next week of allowing myself
the luxury of a trip to Oxford.'
Maud rose and seized his arm. His grandeur and indefiniteness positively
alarmed her. Did he think she would be taken in by such grandiose words?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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