Cynthia: With an Introduction by Maurice HewlettMerrick, Leonard
General
Cynthia: With an Introduction by Maurice Hewlett
Merrick, Leonard
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction; Novelists -- Fiction
He wasn't without a hope that, by refraining from the request, he might
move her to gratitude; but her avoidance of him did not diminish, and
when August came, he questioned whether he ought to leave her for a
while. The part that she had allotted to herself was plainly more than
she could sustain; to relieve her temporarily of his presence might be
the most considerate plan he could adopt? But the notion repelled him
violently. Though she was colder and ill at ease, she enchained him.
He had very little, and that little he was loath to lose. To look at
her across the room, unobserved, in their long pauses was not charged
with regret only--the bitterness had an indefinable joy as well; he
liked to note the effect of lamplight on her profile as she read, took
pleasure in her grace when she moved. To spare her what distress he
could, however, was his duty--yes, if she wished it, he would go! He
debated, where he sat smoking by the window one evening, whether she
would wish it if she knew how dear she had grown to him; whether if he
stammered to her something of his remorse----His pain had become almost
intolerable.
The hour was very still. In the west, on the faint azure, some smears
of flame colour lingered; then, while he stared out, faded, and hung
in the sky like curls of violet smoke. Over the myriad tints of green
came the low whinny of a horse. His wife sat sewing by the table, and,
turning, he watched the rhythmical movement of her hand. A passionate
longing assailed him to free his tongue from the weight that hampered
it and cry to her he loved her, though she might not care to hear. He
knocked the ashes from his pipe, and sauntered nearer.
"Aren't you going to smoke any more?" she said.
"Not now; I've been smoking all day."
"You should try to write without."
"I ought to--but I never could."
He touched the muslin on her lap diffidently--it _was_ on her lap.
"What are you making--another pinafore?"
"Yes. Do you think it's pretty?"
His hand lay close to her own; but she held the garment up to him, and
perforce he drew back.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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